A day or two ago, a certain blonde lady-friend and I were sitting atop an omnibus en route to a little tete-a-tete with some girls of our acquaintance. As we chatted, we stumbled upon the idea that Blondes do not have the degree of understanding they deserve in the Pit (does anyone, you ask!). We concluded that, for a lonely blonde desolate and bereft without strong and supportive Brunette company, the Pit is a cruelly cold and harsh place.
Being the caring type, my Blonde companion suggested we offer a telephone line where the poor bedraggled, world-weary creatures described above might call for friendship and advice. "Perhaps we ought to make a society or club of it!" This last was, I fear the Blondeness of my friend pushing things to the point of absurdity so I jovially suggested we create an acronym to identify it. I first thought of B.I.M.B.O. but we failed to think of words to match the initials. Abandoning the idea but instantly formulating an even better one, I suggested, "How about the 'Don't Undermine My Blondeness' club?" A few moments of intense thought from the beauty sitting beside me and then, in a flash of un-inspiration, she wailed, "I don't get it."
Blondes are beautiful, noble, delightful, entertaining and decorative creatures, I am sure you will agree, but they have their limitations.
Miss M xXx
By the way, this is in blue because I thought you might think I was making it up otherwise!
More thoughts from your newly-girdlish blonde. The experience of wearing a girdle - of coming to terms with it as a part of life (if only a sometimes-part, as I am not yet wearing it every day) promotes new and interesting thoughts.
I am reminded of Pvt. Cheeseman's observations in the Goodwood Piece about wearing formal clothes in hot weather. It is rather the same — simply a matter of what one decides one does. At the end of the day one often wishes to slip of one's girdle. This can happen much earlier. The other day I wore one in the morning for a formal meeting and then started feeling I should really like to take it off. However, I decided to keep it on, along with my very formal green suit, for going shopping that afternoon.
Well, you know what shopping is like, especially if you happen to be a blonde. I was out for — well rather a long time. There was coffee to be taken into account after one was too tired to go on. And then coffee and teacakes when one was too tired again. Well, what is shopping without coffee? Blonde-fuel, as they call it.
Now, having felt that I was really not sure if I could go on girdling hours earlier at home, I never gave the matter another thought. I suppose girdling is a bit like shopping. One decides one cannot possibly shop a moment longer, has some coffee and then steams ahead again. The concept of "impossible" whether regarding formal clothes in hot weather, shopping or girdles is purely relative.
However, I have certainly gained a fresh insight into the phrase often heard in up-to-date films "Just have a drink while I slip into something more comfortable." I never understood it before, but now I see exactly what it means. One arrives home, relaxes, and wishes to — well, slip into something more comfortable.
Thus the profound and fascinating culture of girdles is closely related to another profound and fascinating culture: that of negligées. The two things are more closely related than might at first seem apparent.
Of course the question this will raise is: "Does wearing a girdle mean being perpetually uncomfortable?" Well, it isn't actually quite as simple as that (what blonde-matter is simple?) part of the magic of wearing a girdle is feeling formal, dignified, poised and elegant. None of these things are uncomfortable, but all of them are opposed to the cult of extreme and excessive comfort otherwise known as sloppiness.
The revolution which ended the wearing of girdles as a matter of course by girls of all ages in the late '60s and early '70s was the revolution that took as one of its slogans "let it all hang out". Clearly this was intended both figuratively and literally.
Along with this went an excess of "comfort" (meaning sloppiness) in all areas, from the habit of addressing every one and her lap-dog by her first name, to the Californian touchstone of psychological rightness "Yeah, I feel comfrrrdable with thayad."
In clothes the wearing of Pit-pyjamas: sloppy, formless soft-edged nursery-wear, for adults who have never been innocent children and will never grow up, expresses the same syndrome.
Yes, by these standards girdles are uncomfortable just as fresh air is uncomfortable to a person who lives solely in an overheated sick-room.
But to normal people, certainly to ladies as opposed to mere women, the contrast between the formal and the informal, the elegant and the comfortable is part of the variety and stimulation of life.
Of course one need not wear a girdle to be elegant. I have not worn one until very recently, and I flatter myself I was rather elegant before I began. However, it is worth considering as something that not only provides the underpinning (as it were) of a truly up-to-date appearance, whether tailored and crisp or glossy and glittery, but also introduces one to fresh nuances of life that are wholly lost in the world of the post-1968 slob-revolution. Most notably, the fine and fascinating distinction between formality and comfort.
Not only does one learn new things about the fun of formality. One also learns new things about the fun of comfort. For without one, one loses most of the other.
That Blonde Again
I am looking forward to seeing The Silver Vixen's lucubrations on the habit of drinking out of bottles. The only thing I know on the etiquette of the subject (apart from the obvious don't) is a piece of advice offered by Emily Post or someone to bongo "dykes":
"If you must drink beer, try to drink it in half pints. But if you must drink it in pints, at least try to drink it out of a glass. And if you really must drink it out of a bottle, at least try to pick up the bottle with your hand. No matter how prehensile your feet are, you will never manage to pick up a bottle with those awful boots on."
If one were to tell you that one of our Aristasian writers has taken up a resident column in a magazine in the Pit, you would be surprised. If one were to ask you to guess he name of the magazine, you would certainly not plump for The Chap.
However it is true. Our own Silver Vixen has become Ladies' Editor of The Chap magazine and authorette of "The Ladies' Smoking Room" column. So if you see a copy, do pick it up. She has some very timely comments on the importance of wearing gloves and some rather fierce ones about the habit of drinking out of bottles.
The Blonde Management
My brunette tells me that the secret of a truly up-to-date look lies in the foundation garment. It is even more crucial than wearing gloves she says.
More crucial than gloves! Well, I suppose one must allow for a modicum of brunette hyperbole.
So anyway, have been experimenting with wearing a girdle. No I haven't. I've been wearing it. Why shilly-shally? It certainly makes one more upright and gives one the Quirrie pointy look, if you know what I mean.
What about comfort? Well, one does get used to it. I think one needs to think in terms of being upright and poised. It is certainly a very up-to-date feeling. A sort of disciplined feeling, one would have to say. And when one thinks that just about every one in Quirinelle wears one, well, it makes one consider that probably one should.
Oh dear. I am not being horribly articcers, am I? If I were to say it was a sort of mystical feeling I should certainly be exaggerating, but it is something that is hard to put into words.
The main thing is that i am assured it makes one much more real and much more exciting on the outside — and isn't that the blonde ideal?
Lots of love,
A blonde who is a little too shy to mention her name
We are pleased to announce that the attacking virus seems to be under control.
We are also pleased to announce that the essay on "The Problem of Proletarianisation" has now received a lengthy and considered reply in the form of another essay entitled The Influx of Infantilisation. Do pop over to the Penthouse Library and read it.
The Blonde Management
"So how did it go?" You are asking.
The famous Aristasian outing to Goodwood-in-Quiridoria and Miss cadogan's anounceretting?
Well, fortunately The Morning Letter was there to cover the whole event with reporting, commentary and lots of photographs.
The Blonde Management
Precious Pettes, one and all,
I have the current misfortune of working in a Bongo Bookshop, and was recently bemused when a particularly gormless young Pit Wallah requested the very latest edition of the "Good University Guide" . It occured to me that surely this title is an oxymoron in the Pit? (or is an Oxymoron a Bongo attending Pit "Oxford"?!)
I was obliged to procure the publication in question from the shelf, and upon my return, said bongo enquired which Pit University I had chosen to attend. (At this point, I should inform you that a very wise Blonde I happen to know once advised me that should any brazen Bongo quiz me on this subject, I should inform them that I chose not to attend any Pit University (which is true), because I "could not find one good enough" (which is also true!)
Suprised Bongo then enquired if I had not even been lured by the "Dreaming Spires".
I informed her that it was more a case of the "Dreaming Uninspires"!
Predictably confused, she duly paid her idiotic £12.99 in Bongo currency, and sloped off in her abhorent Army trousers and garish plastic sandals.
This exchange left me musing that one would have to look a jolly sight further than the "Good" University Guide to find anywhere worth studying in "Academia Telluria".
The likes of that young Bongoette would benefit greatly from the Aristasian seat of learning, where amongst other knowledge, her own"seat" of learning would acquire great insights from Miss Serelique's cane!
Your ever Faithful Brunette,
Miss B* X
Some girls from Avendale district are going to the Goodwood Revival — the only major international sporting event to have an utterly up-to-date dress code. Go to the Goodwood Revival Page and then click "Getting the Look" in the sidebar to see exactly what we mean and why we are so excited. Brunettes are also excited about the real racing cars.
Miss Camellia Cadogan of Avenbridge School has been invited to make some announcements, being one of the few people in the Yeek with an authentic real-B.B.C. announcerette's voice, and you should have seen the fus about her clothes. The Jaqueline Vert green suit has finally been replaced by a real Quirrie dress and three-quarter-sleeved jacket, with cream earrings, cream-and-blue shoes, a fur stole and two rustly paper-nylon petticoats.
Wish us luck. Cadoggers is said to be having ecstasies of stage-fright.
P.S. Dear Major, I should just like to clarify that generally speaking, if one leaves wax on one's eyebrows too long, the trouble is not taking one's skin off with it, but getting it off at all! It goes all cold and solid and you really have to pick at it. It's also impossible to do yourself; I should like to shake the hand and learn the secrets of any girl who has managed that feat.
My last poll determined that 98.7% of brunettes, however courageous in other spheres, are mortally afraid of waxing and believe the most awful things about it (e.g. that your hair grows back yellow). I shan't say another word!
Your beauty consultant,
I fancy the major is referring to a real incident that took place with a blonde in Avendale district. However, the culprit (apart from the blonde) was a chemical depilator which, left on too long, burnt her skin. This (among a few other minor incidents in this household and elsewhere) led to a general agreement among brunettes that leaving a blonde in the house alone was a hazardous procedure.
We name no names.
Oh, do let's have a harem! We already have lots of girls, the only other thing we need to get started is a Rockefeller. Which one, you might inquire? "Oh, any one," as Miss Marilyn Monroe would say.
But first, before we go a-hunting for suitable bank accounts upon which to draw: It seems to me the brunettes around here are rawther self-interested. All this talk of how marvelous a harem would be for them, and scarcely a word about what the blondes so necessary to the scheme would think about it. I propose that it is time to take a poll.
Hands up, all blondes who wouldn't mind being locked up in a glorious Estrenne palace with an unlimited supply of perfumes, cosmetics and silken gowns!
Yes, I thought so.
Why, may I ask, has the Blonde Management become so terribly
prim and proper all of a sudden? It is hardly fair to fire the imagination
of every brunette everywhere with images of Harems and then promptly roll
out threats of District Governesses and other such horrors. Frankly, Madam,
I suspect you have unwittingly unleashed a monster that will not easily be
returned to its cage.
I once had a full harem but found it prohibitively expensive and extremely time-consuming to keep peace in the ranks as it were! Nowadays, I think one ought to limit one's pleasures. Too much of a good thing and all that, what!
Today I have only limited haremal aspirations. Not a full collection of blondes exactly, just enough to allow me to go out to regimental dinners, colour reviews, operatic performances and the like in the secure knowledge that the blondes at home can look after one another and I do not have to supervise them for a few hours. You know how blondes can be sometimes if left without supervision; they leave the wax on their eyebrows too long and peel off half their skin with it; they decide to cook something then get distracted trying on dresses and jewellery and burn the house down; they walk in to doors and stub their toes because they are too taken up with the beautiful image in the hand-mirror to notice where they are walking.....shall I go on or have you understood my general point?
Perhaps there is some merit in a three-blonde harem with a loyal brunette drill sergeant to time wax treatments, extinguish fires and bandage toes? Someone like the brunette in my picture perhaps....but then again, why employ an inferior officer and then let her have all the fun?
The Major (brunette - obviously!)
I have heard that in some regions of Amazonia, brunette empresses and sultanas will have vast harems of blondes all to themselves. A pleasant thought if you're the sultana in question, but is it fair to the other brunettes around?
And you know, considering the trouble I've had with just one blonde girlfriend, the idea of a few dozen of them on my hands is not necessarily soothing!
Still, I must confess that Karen's remark made me giggle. More than once I've thought that, as long as I live in Telluria, a harem would be a nicer Tellurian home than most — think of it, except for occasional guards, I would only ever have to see one em-ay-en!
For the benefit of any other brunettes who, like Miss R, are "thinking of starting a harem", we should point out that while they may be legal in some parts of the East, if one established a harem here in the West, one's local District Governess might have an opinion on the matter!
Not to mention, as Miss Eve indicates, the other local brunettes!
I take Miss Karen's point on polygamy and harems, however may I venture a respectful suggestion? Had she not rather be a member of some charming brunette's harem? She might not bag so much Turkish Delight, but she might well find that the position held other compensations.
In fact, as it happens, I am thinking of starting a harem myself, and Miss Karen may care to apply.
Miss R br.
Ahem — that was not a terribly respectful suggestion, young lady. may we respetfully remind you that while alcoholic beverages (of a virtual nature) are served here, this is still a family forum?
The Three Gunas in History is one of the most enlightening things I have ever read! One thing puzzles me a little, however. Miss trent says that the Tibetan perspective is in some ways closer to the original "matriarchal" one than the Indian, and notes as evidence that polyandry was practised in Tibet until recently.
Perhaps I am being ab it naïve, but what has polyandry got to do with "matriarchy" — or whatever one calls it? Is the idea that if women are in command they get lots of men, and if men are in command they get lots of women? It sounds a bit crude put that way. Or am I missing the point? And anyway, miss Trent says it isn't so much about who is in command as about the centrality of the Feminine Image. So what is the answer?
On a personal note I would say that polyandry doesn't appeal to me. One husband would be one too many! And if I had to choose between polyandry and polygamy I should go for the latter like a shot. I should much rather live in a harem with lots of nice girls and only have to see the husband when my turn came round. Perhaps I could even swap my turn for a box of Turkish Delight or something.
Does that mean I am patriarchal?
Miss Serelique replies: We must remember that in Sattwic societies — especially the earlier ones — social institutions are founded on metaphysical and cosmological models. From this point of view, the implication of polyandry is that the feminine is single and central, while the masculine is multiple and peripheral. In other words, the feminine corresponds to the centre of the wheel, the unmoved mover, the single Spirit or Principle; while the masculine corresponds to the multiplicity of outward manifestation. This is the Feminine-centred ("matriarchal", if you will) perspective. Polygamy, of course reverses this, expressing the masculine-centred or "patriarchal" perspective.
It does not, of course, mean that a feminine-centred society in Telluria should be, or necessarily will be, polyandrous, any more than all patriarchal societies are polygamous*. But this is the meaning of the two forms for any Sattwic society.
I hope this clarifies the matter. Please feel free — Karen or any one else — to ask further questions.
* Or, better, polygynous — both forms are strictly polygamous — i.e. multiple-marriage. The use of the word "polygamy" to mean "multiple-wives" shows the same masculine-centred bias as the use of the word "solarisation" to mean the transfer of solar attributes from female to male deities.
As the New Aristasia Friends continues to expand and develop into new areas, we are delighted to announce our very first Wireless Programme. This is not a purely-Aristasian programme, but is a story by an aristasian writer newly recorded for Aristasia Friends Wireless.
It is the very first of the Amelia Bingham stories about a lady confidence trickster and her friend Hypatia ("Pash") Chevender — the raffles and Bunny of the girly-world. We are sure you will be captivated.
Click on the wireless set to hear the very first Aristasian wireless broadcast.
If you have any problems, please contact us.
The Blonde Management
We are planning an essay discussing the eclipse in more detail than ever before. Really such an important concept does demand a bit of discussing, doesn't it?
However, thinking about it all, we decided that it is very hard to discuss the Eclipse properly unless every one has a bit of an idea about the Three Gunas in History. No, it isn't a slapstick comedy — it's an awfy important idea that helps one understand all sorts of things like — well, why feminists don't shave their legs; and why nobody knows where to put an apostrophe; and why there is so much crime and violence; and why the bongo Queen doesn't speak the Queen's English; and why so many people are depressed and suicidal. And if you think all those things are separate and unconnected questions, well you really need to read:
The Blonde Management
Oh my dear Princess Mushroom, those are such delightful umbrellas! And I do so love the barley twist handle!
It is hard to imagine but there is actually an entirely real umbrella shop right in the heart of pit London! I always feel that when one passes such a place one should pop in, if only to soak in the charm of feeling suddenly at home! When I was last passing this delightful place I fell head over heels for a lovely lilac umbrella with a pearlised handle displayed in the window. Obviously I had to rush in immediately and have a good long look at it. However, as it was priced at over four guineas I have a feeling that this blonde will only ever look at it, but a blonde can dream!
Readers of these hallowed pages may begin to suspect that the Mushroom Princess has a thing about umbrellas. Well, as a fully paid-up and certified blonde, I must tell you that I am not given to things. Things are given to me. At least that is the theory.
However, with the appearances of my lovely white parasol and my Quirrie-beyond-words pink and white polka-dot umbrella, some people might start to suspect that my relations with the umbrella branch of the thing-family transcend the natural. Well, I have already alluded to the metaphysical significance of the Umbrella, and I could tell you that that is the reason for my infatuation. Perhaps at the secret root of things it would even be true.
But on the surface level, my feelings for umbrellas are purely natural — insofar as charm and delightfulness are ever purely natural.
We have spoken heretofore of gloves and their amost-magical propensity to turn a middling-sort-of outfit into something unequivocally and challengingly up-to-date. Well, I contend that a truly up-to-date umbrella can have something of the same effect. I confess (now that circumstances have somewhat freed me from the vice) to being consumed with envy over nancy's delightful umbrellas, which almost seemed like the Supreme Accessories, transforming her already gloriously up-to-date appearance into something sublime.
They are, of course, real umbrellas. I have always been a firm advocate of the doctrine that it does not matter whether or not a thing is made in the Pit so long as it can merge into a beautifully Aristasian Whole (be that Whole a sartorial ensemble or a domestic interior). Lots of lovely frocks can be found outside the "retro-shops". Perfect gloves are freely available straight from the glover's (or whoever makes them in the Pit). But umbrellas are another matter. While very delightful ones can still be found new (as witness my lovely parasol and perfectly-Quirrie pink-and-white polka-dot umbrella) they never have that utterly indefinable Something that a real umbrella possesses. the real ones are so slender, so perfect, so I-simply-don't-know-what. Like gloves they transform an outfit. Combine them with gloves and one's look is all-conquering.
So it is with no little jolliness that I report to you the recent discovery of no fewer than five (they are in the picture above — you may count them if you wish) real umbrellas at a price I blush to mention. One or two are not in perfect repair, but the brunette of the family thinks she can do something with them (aren't brunettes wonderful?)
The one that needs most attention is also the loveliest. Here (above) is a close-up of its handle. It really deserves a close-up because its head was so uncouthly cut off in the group-photograph (and it is now raining again, so I can't take another — how ironic that umbrellas should be daunted by rain). Isn't it the most exquisite thing?
The one in best repair is also my second-favourite. It is the most elegant long green one with a barley-sugar twist handle, and it goes perfectly with my green suede shoes with the little gold chains at the heels. I have posed the two together so you can admire them and agree — as you must agree — that their marriage was made in Heaven.
Of all the things on earth, this umbrella alone is exempt from the injunction "keep offa my green suede shoes".
Another essay has been added to the library — this time a brand-new one, though one, perhaps, that should have been written long ago. Entitled The Earth-Mother: a fallacy for all seasons, it looks at earth-mothers and fertility-cults, and unearths (no pun intended) the strange alliance between early-patriarchal role-reversers, late-patriarchal demythologisers and feminists who don't shave their legs.
It also discusses the true feminine spirituality obscured by all the barefooted blither and earthy-booted tomboyfoolery.
You really must go and see!
The Blonde management
You find me in slightly better spirits today (Vodka and Whisky, infact) as I have made yet another cheering purchase I wanted to share with you.
Just to clear up a few passing issues first however.
My Dear, wide-eyed blonde (Miss A.B) I'm so glad you took my gentle teasing in the nature it was intended. As our charming Editress stated, I was indeed airing my dramatic licence.....I haven't taken it out of its box for so long, it had practically expired!
Miss Eve, I would like to introduce myself. I am Miss Rebecca Beaumarsh, Miss B* to some of my friends. I'm not sure from where exactly you hail, but where I come from we have a custom of using an "X" to depict a kiss (or several, depending on how keen you are!) So I add one, for all you pettes to share. If I added one for each of you I might get a reputation!
.....and the "*" why, that's because where I come from, I am a star!
I hope that clears things up.
Ooh! I did mean to add Miss Eve, that I simply adored your pink and black tea set. I am positively burning with envy! I do hope you enjoy it. Also I am sure I added the recipe for a Femme Fatale a little while back. If you look one archive away it should be there. It is my own recipe, and I was so bold as to assert it as a REAL and exclusive Aristasian cocktail. (With the permission of the management!)
So onto MY latest, lovely acquisition. A delightful book from Vintesse. "Foulsham's Cocktails, Ices, Sundaes, Jellies and American drinks. How to make them" (Snappy, little title!) I think the cover is quite jolly, and the book is a fine addition to my existing cocktail book library.
This one also
caught my eye with a certain favourite little blonde in mind who simply adores
ice cream. I thought I cound whip her up a special sundae one special Sunday!
I'll include a quick recipe in her honour. I'm not certain if she likes coffee ice cream, but I know she likes fluffy coffee, so I'll take a risk!
(I would also reiterate, as our Editress mentioned, that all contributions of recipes, be they cocktails, sundaes, desserts or savouries, are most jolly well welcome!)
COFFEE NUT SUNDAE
Coffee ice cream (79, With cream added)
Chopped shelled walnuts
Mix the chopped walnuts with the coffe ice cream. Pile some into each glass, top with whipped cream and one or two ratafias.
Eat immediately, and you have a happy Blonde!
(I must restrain myself with these kisses, but it is tricky with such charming Blondes around!)
Dear Miss B,
How do you do? I don't believe we've met; due no doubt to the infrequency with which blondes are required to hail the barpette on their own account in these chivalrous environs.
Let me promise you that you have witnessed my one and only incursion into your jurisdiction! I should be as likely to mix drinks as to take up chemistry. They seem roughly equivalent in trickiness -- although, I give your discipline credit for levels of mystery to which mere scientists could never ascend. Putting the yolk of an egg into a drink? I never heard of such a thing! I thought eggs were strictly a thing one put in drinks to aid in one's recovery from OTHER drinks the previous night. Who knew?
Well, you did, obviously, and probably other brunettes too. Brunettes know the funniest things. I've heard there are even brunettes who know what day it is on a regular basis!
Your very wide-eyed,
Oh, dear. You pettes may recall that I have been boasting of imminent loot in this little corner of Aristasia. And it so happens that one item I am expecting is a pair of Quirrie drinking vessels. I was unfamiliar with them, being a Kadorian, and did a bit of research, whereupon I discovered that these items are quite popular in Quirinelle and are used to serve a particular strong-sounding cocktail. I was going to share the recipe as well as a picture of the items in question after I'd received them and had a chance to try them and could tell you pettes of the effect, but now I am wary of stepping on Miss B* X's toes. (What an unusual name, by the way. Is it Estrenne?)
May I crave the Barpette's indulgence on this occasion? Or at the very least, would she tell us how to make a Femme Fatale?
Fear not, Miss B was merely using her Dramatic Licence (after all, it costs so much to get one that one might as well get full use out of it). All cocktails are welcome. The more the merrier. This is a cocktail bar after all. Miss B is our one-and-only resident Cocktail Correspondent, but other offerings are always welcomed.
My Dear Pettes, One and all, (Except for the odd cheeky Blonde)
As I have mentioned previously, I have been generally indisposed at the moment, and I am feeling most fed-up I must tell you Pettes. This is a jolly unjolly Brunette Barpette addressing you!
I have however been ambling into Girlstown daily.....and what should I discover, but a Blonde interloper stealing my Cocktail thunder, I am not amused! (Pink drink, indeed!)
So due to the thunderous temper this has exacerbated, (Fear not A.B, dramatic licence is employed) and due to the terrible storms we have had here of late, here is my contribber, For what it's worth!
From The Savoy Cocktail Book:
THUNDER AND LIGHTNING COCKTAIL
The Yolk of one egg.
One teaspoon powdered sugar.
One Glass Brandy.
Shake well and strain into medium size glass. Dash of Cayenne Pepper on top.
Thoroughly shake up two Glasses of Brandy, two of Gin, and Two of Whisky. -— Serve! *
*To the six people. Then run for your life!
I leave you. Disgruntled, dispirited and damp,
I'm off to drown my sorrows with a Femme Fatale, or ten.....
I hope to be with you all again, in happier times, Sniff.....
Miss B* X
The Aristasian Spirituality group has received its Inaugural Address from a teacher called Cuivahya all the way from Novaria Pura. Quite fascinating. Isn't it time you joined? Or at least popped over to take a look — the files are open to the public.
Incidentally, who remembers where the name Cuivahya most famously appears in Aristasian literature?
The Blonde Management
Humph. I see that some people have been gossiping about Miss Hayes and myself. Out of my deep regard for the blonde in question, I must hasten to assure you all that the association between us is entirely honorable, and that I have behaved like a perfect gentilmaid at all times. Indeed, Miss Hayes' character is such that any brunette in her presence could hardly do otherwise, though if her character were any less sterling, her beauty is the sort that routinely wreaks havoc among otherwise cool-headed brunettes. Not that anypette has ever put me into that category.
In any case, Miss Belleanne neglected to mention the song to which Miss Hayes was dancing when she met the President, who if a red-blooded brunet must have been charmed to the core, though I voted for the other brunet, who struck me as more red-blooded. I don't hold with these new-fangled fancy colors for blood; red was good enough for my great-grand'netty and it's good enough for me.
Oh, yes, the song. In general, Miss Hayes prefers the works of Miss Wilhemina Gilbert and Dame Artesia Sullivan, but after a Pink Squirrel or two — not that I am implying that she ever overindulges — she detours to Miss Eydie Gorme:
I was at a dance
when she caught my eye
Standin' all alone lookin' sad and shy
We began to dance, swaying' to and fro
And soon I knew I'd never let her go
it on the bossa nova with its magic spell
Blame it on the bossa nova that she did so well
Oh, it all began with just one little dance
But then it ended up a big romance
Blame it on the bossa nova
The dance of love
(Now was it the
No, no, the bossa nova
(Or the stars above?)
No, no, the bossa nova
(Now was it the tune?)
Yeah, yeah, the bossa nova
(The dance of love)
Now I'm glad to
say I'm her bride to be
And we're gonna raise a family
And when our kids ask how it came about
I'm gonna say to them without a doubt
Blame it on the
bossa nova with its magic spell
Blame it on the bossa nova that she did so well
Oh, it all began with just one little dance
But then it ended up a big romance
Blame it on the bossa nova
The dance of love
(Now was it the
No, no, the bossa nova
(Or the stars above?)
No, no, the bossa nova
(Now was it the tune? )
Yeah, yeah, the bossa nova
(The dance of love)
Eve T., br.
This afternoon I was watching a kinnie-shiny featuring a very sweet blonde girl for whom Miss Taganov nurtures a consuming passion. I won't go into detail as the thingummy is bongo in nature; however, the occasion of the young lady's first meeting with the President of the United States deserves mention.
The President had just given his third State of the Union speech and the entire White House was having a party to celebrate. Miss Hayes had gone out to the Sculpture Garden for some air and sat down on a bench without seeing the Wet Paint sign affixed to it. She was reduced to the indignity of exchanging her suit for a fluffy white robe. That circumstance alone would have been enough to mortify her, but as it happened she was dancing about her office when the Commander-in-Chief strolled in... and she was drinking a Pink Squirrel.
Now, I ASK you. What could be more amusing? I don't drink, but should I ever decide to take it up, the Pink Squirrel would be the very first cocktail I tried. This is how to make it, for any blondes here who would enjoy a variation on pink champagne:
1 oz. Creme de
1 oz. White Creme de Cacao
1 oz. Cream
Mix ingredients with ice in a shaker or blender. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.
Oh, I have more loot to show off later... but I couldn't wait any longer to show you these darling things. What could be better than pink & black kitchenware, I ask you? Oh, all right, champagne with Grace Kelly under a full moon, but what else?
I just got all sort of pink & black dishes from Elektra-bay. They're made by a Quirrie company called "Ballerina", which put out numerous pretty dishes, but these have stolen my heart. Of course, some scoundrellette did try to whisk the butter dish away from me, but I prevailed.
And I have a bit of practical advice that may be useful to any pettes wishing to buy Quirrie dishes, if they also have one of those nifty Novarian miniscule-oscillation ovens that cook things so quickly. Those ovens don't treat all dishes well. Novarian dishes are always marked as safe or not for miniscule-oscillation ovens, but with Quirrie dishes, how is one to tell?
One is to tell by putting one plate in the Novarian oven with one cup of water, and heating them on the highest setting for one full minute. If the water is warm and the dish cool, the dishes are miniscule-oscillation safe!
Heavens, I'm getting domestic lately. Is it proper for a brunette to be this domestic? At least, a spinster brunette?
And a minuscule osculation to you for your helpful advice!
We are proud to announce another additon to the Central Library: a very rare classic essay never seen in Elektraspace before — The Symbolism of Archery. This essay discusses not only the Aristasian/traditional symbolism of the Royal Art of Archery but also goes into the subject of War, giving a fascinating acount of the traditional Aristasian view of the subject. Don't miss it.
The Blonde Management
I've been doing a lot of Elektra-fleeming lately. When I acquire some of my loot, I promise to show it to you all!
But in the meantime, the description of a pair of Real stockings amused me so much that I had to share it with you pettes. The vendor, who clearly regards these darling stockings as bizarre things, remarks, "I can remember when my mother, aunts and grandmother wore hosiery that had seams, as I did when I was much, much younger because there was no other choice," and asks rhetorically, "When is the last time you heard of anyone wearing SEAMED STOCKINGS?"
Would she believe, six o'clock?
I was interested to read that cappuccino is known in Avendale District as blonde-fuel. In the Pit it is known as a rather "trendy" drink. Are the pettes sure it is perfectly up-to-date?
Oh, yes. Perfectly up-to-date. Espresso Bars are all the rage in Quirinelle and every one knows Espresso is the first stage in making real cappuccino Admittedly it is a rather modern Quirinellism and not always approved of by the more traditional classes (that is, the highest and the lowest): as witness the Quirrie song Fings ain't Wot They Used to Be:
They’ve changed our local palais into a bowling alley,
And fings ain’t wot they used to be.
There’s teds wiv drain-pipe trousers and debs in coffee houses;
Fings ain’t wot they used to be.
Froffy coffee indeed! Every one knows that the proper term for capuccino is fluffy coffee. But then I suppose one must make allowances for — well, you know — squares.
P.S. — followers of the recent discussions on Proletarianisation may note that only in true Cockney, as approved by the Empire for maids and shop-girls, can one rhyme "trousers" with "houses". The proper pronunciation of said Cockney bifurcs is "trahziz".
A new item has been added to the library. An extract from Children of the Void entitled A Speech Lesson, which is quite relevant to the discussion on Proletarianisation that has recently been taking place at the Harmony Point.
Also a new Elektra Group has opened, called Aristasian Spirituality. This group will have a spiritual and devotional focus. If you are interested, please go and join the group as the first postings will appear ther shortly. One of its functions will be to send regular inspirational or devotional pieces to the Elektra-letterboxes of our more devotionaly-minded girlies.So if you are such a one, do pop along and sign up today.
The Blonde Management
I am not at all certain blondes ought to drink Turkish coffee. I suspect their constitutions are too delicate for it, though you can see for yourself the result I got the last time I attempted to suggest this to a blonde.
Why should District brunettes have all the fun? Take a picture of Bethy and share it with us all!
Well, about these parts, Capuccino is known as "blonde-fuel", though one does enjoy the occasional Espresso (which they just call café — "café noir" is almost a pleonasm) in France. Café au lait is not highly regarded there — nor is it very drinkable. But for the most part, we blondes prefer our coffee fluffy.
Well, this one does, anyway!
Since our announcement this morning, two more comments on The proletarianisation essay at the Roof Garden Café. The piece seems to have caught people's imagination.
Notification : new comments on Proletarianisation Essay in the Roof Garden Café.
Some of you pettes may recall that in the Aphrodite Cocktail Bar, somepette talked about how racinating going to exotic foreign restaurants could be, after she had been to an India-Indian one. Well, last week I took her at her word and went to a Lebanese restaurant. On weekends, they even have a beledi dancer performing!
The food was of course excellent, and the decor utterly dreamy. It was easy to imagine myself in a Sultana's palace, with the low chairs, the authentic carpets and chandeliers, the beaded curtains, the music.... But for me, the crown of the evening was the coffee. When I ordered baklava for dessert, the waitress suggested Turkish coffee, and I decided to try it.
It was a revelation. It's cooked in a little brass kettle called an ibriki. First the water is boiled. When it has come to a boil, it is removed from the heat and a heaping spoonful of finely ground Turkish coffee is added, along with sugar, if desired. And I recommend the sugar, because this coffee is very strong! The coffee should be allowed to float on top of the water, so that when it is boiled again the water foams through the coffee. The coffee is allowed to foam up three times, each time being removed from the heat to cool down. Then it is poured into a darling little demitasse cup or two. The result is thick as mud, black as the devil and sweet as a stolen kiss, and will make your toes curl.
Mine curled so much that as soon as I got home, I found an Elektra-site where I could buy the Turkish coffee and the demitasse cups. They arrived yesterday, but I haven't been able to bring myself to unpack them, because instead of being packed in those bongo "peanuts", they are in a nest of nice racinating straw. Odd that such a small detail should mean so much, but of course it does!
And on Elektra-bay I found an ibriki very like the one in the restaurant, though less ornate. I could have gotten a shiny new one, but this one has clearly come through the Iron Curtain and has a certain racinating imperfection to it, don't you think? It's easy to think that this ibriki was transported in a pack on a camel's back and used over a fire under the stars in the desert night. I hope it won't be too bored in my Kadorian kitchen after that roaming life!
Oh dear. It makes our favourite blonde tipple of cappuccino with caramel syrup seem a little feeble, doesn't it?
By the way, did you know our very own Bethy at Avenbridge School dances like that. You think I exaggerate, but I really don't. She has beatutiful Estrenne costumes and has even been dancing in Turkey. As you can imagine, her act is a great favourite with the brunettes at District parties!
I recently had a conversation with a bongo about stockings. It was her opinion that nude stockings are pointless as if you can't actually see the stockings one might as well walk around bare-legged.
I heartily disagreed with her. One might as well say that because one can not see face powder then it is better to go without. Stockings, like make up, give an appearance of perfection. Nude stockings make legs look more charming than they are already. Even Miss Betty Grable's legs benefit from stockings!
Having this conversation made me realise how the Pit makes the aspiration to perfection a rather dirty deed. If nobody can be perfect then perfection itself is wrong and therefore anyone doing something as simple as wearing stockings must be rather ignorant. I for one would prefer to be 'ignorant' than to be the most cleverest of Pit-dwellers and so I shall continue to wear stockings.
I raise a glass to all the lovely stocking wearing Aristasians. Keep up the good work girls!!
We let our suspenders keep up the good work for us!
Good news! the Penthouse Library at the harmony Point Building is finally unlocked. You will find a contribution from Miss Taganov at the Roof Garden and an important essay on The Problem of Proletarianisation (or what makes Pit Britain so gosh-ghastly) in the library itself. Oh, and you will be able to see a film-clip of a delightful Quirrie anouncerette, Miss Silvia Peters, there too. We thought that would send you flying off there!
The Blonde Management
Once again I am writing on my tiny ordinator from the clinic, while Miss Juliana sees the physiotherapist about her poor hand, which has been numb for weeks. It is her left hand, which is a blessing (if occasionally a mixed one!). Other than the hand-problem, things are going pretty swimmingly at Chateau Champignon. There is a fine smell of muck-spreading pervading the entire area — even as far up as the clinic where I type — reminding one how very near to the countryside the New Embassy actually is, despite its location amid the lights of a Quirrie town square.
Hmm. On to pleasanter matters. Princess Mushroom had a most delightful find on her latest shopping spree — an adorable white parasol. It is just entirely what is needed for these sultry days of high Quirrie Summer. We may be in the West, but we are still sufficiently Estrenne in sensibility that this Tanning Cult is still far from our Royal ideas of propriety. A lady should be fair of face in every sense of the word and remember, in the immortal words of Nativita Coward that:
The sun is very sultry
And one must avoid its ultry-
Any one who knows that song as well as the girls in this District will no doubt be making at this moment the extraordinary jungle noises that immediately follow those lines. Or are some Districts a little saner than ours?
Well, back to the Royal Parasol. Remember that parasols have long been Royal Attributes owing to their combination of solar-radial and axial symbolism. You don't think I am being flippant, do you? Now you know I wouldn't be flippant about a thing like that. Perhaps Miss Serelique will do us an essay on it for our new Philosophy Room — pretty please?
Anyway, this Royal Mushroom carries her own parasol, rather than having tall and swarthy brunette Hereditary Serving Maids bear it above her as she perambulates. This is mostly because she enjoys being able to twirl it coquettishly and pose with it; though partly, she must confess, owing to a severe shortage of tall and swarthy brunette Hereditary Serving Maids. She has thought of asking Miss Juliana to stand in occasionally, but has decided against it, since it is her left hand that is numb.
The marvelous thing about this parasol is that although it looks utterly delicate, it is actually completely waterproof, which means that it can do double-duty as an umbrella when called upon so to do. And this part of Quirinelle, being decidedly like — what shall I compare it to? — decidedly like, shall we say, Tellurian England in weathery matters, that can be a very useful thing.
It would have been very useful today because the weather is decidedly sultry. Hot and moist as Diana Dors's lips. As we set out for the clinic (which is just five minutes' walk) I said to Miss Juliana “Oops, I must go back and get my parasol.” I don't know if you have ever noticed how intolerant some brunettes are of blondes going back to get things.
“You are not going back for your parasol,” she said. “you are already carrying two things. You are bound to lose something.”
“I think it might rain,” I said.
“Bunk,” said she.
That is what she said. Bunk. Just like Henrietta Ford. So we walked to the clinic without my parasol. I had my tiny ordinator (whereon I wrote the first part of this report) and my handbag. And my gloves, because no serious blonde goes out without her gloves.
And when we left the clinic, guess what? It was raining. Tipping it down. Proverbial cats and equally proverbial dogs. Bunk, hmmm? So Miss Juliana had to walk back and fetch the car to pick me up. And when I got into the car, I realised I had left my gloves in the clinic and had to go back to get them.
Which just proves that not bringing one's parasol does not stop one forgetting things.
Oh, and here is a picture of Diana Dors complete with lips, in case you didn't know what I meant (It isn't a good excuse for printing the picture — but it's an excuse).
Our new Philosophy section has added to its collection two connected papers of considerable importance which will be of great assistance to those wishing to understand Aristasian Philosophy. They are:
Do take a look at them.
The Blonde Management
Dear Miss B.,
I'm so glad that you have discovered the joys of a real telephone with a real ring. I have had one for a few years now that I found on the electrafleem site, ebay. It's a bit more Western than yours, but it's solid Bakelite with a rotary dial and a great ring. It sits on my desk not far from my Trentish mantle clock that I wind daily and enjoy Westminster chimes from every quarter hour. It, too, is delightful and racinating. Perhaps you should look for one the next time you need cheering up.
Completing our Station Structure we now have a new Events and Schools Page. Do go and take a look!
The Blonde Management
Your faithful Brunette has been in the wars recently one way and another, buffeted by emotions and struggling with life in the dreary old Pit; But ever the Aristasian Brunette, I am battling on; and with a few shillings to spare, I decided to treat myself to an item of beauty to cheer myself a little!
And here is the result! I bought, for my Trentish appartment, the most dlightful REAL Telephone a Pette could hope for! Its ring is simply dreamy, I am just willing people to call me so I can hear its dulcet tone! Its receiver is heavy and solid and sound, its wire is made of fabric, and it has a proper circular dial, instead of poky, plastic bongo buttons!
It is in pride of place on my desk, and as I write to you now, I keep on sneaking glances at it, only to sigh with satisfaction!
I wanted to share this purchase with all you Darlings, whom I knew would appreciate such a delectable object.
I've wanted a REAL Telephone for simply AGES! and I was partially inspired to find one now by one of Miss de Lempicka's pictures "The Telephone II" of which I purchased a postcard at the recent exhibition, and have on the wall above my desk.....perhaps if The lovely Blonde Management also have a copy (which I suspect they have) they could work their ordinator wizardry and show it to you here too. Now, with my Telephone, I look very much like the Pette in the picture! (I do.....REALLY!)
Wishing you all well,
Yours, With Fondness,
Miss B* X
I have a Kadorian magazine on my desk because I mean to make jaypeggies of some of the pictures in it to share with you pettes. A Belgian Strange Creature came in, saw the magazine, and started looking through it. "I love old magazines!" the em-ay-en said. ("Old" is bongolese for "Real".) "I love reading them. I feel like I'm in a different world." He held up a page with this advertisement on it and said, "See? The advertising now is completely different. Nowadays, it's either...." Well, I don't think I can repeat to you pettes exactly how the Strange Creature described it. So let's say that the choices were, riskay in an icky bongo way rather than a fun slightly-naughty way, or rough in a manner far rougher and harsher than the roughest of Rough Brunettes. And this Strange Creature thought it was terrible.
I hear this sort of thing from type-1s in the Pit all the time. It just goes to show, give any type-1 half a chance and before you know it, you'll have a human being on your hands! Now, if only we can contrive more chances for them....
Of course one must agree with every piece of good advice given by Mme. Dariaux. A girl should never think that the details of her outer presentation matters little. I know from my own life that paying close attention to them - and doing so in the right spirit - is a most effective instrument in the cultivation of the inner femininity also.
I do wish, however, to make a little comment on one of the points of Mme. Dariaux when she writes of the importance that a girl's "stocking seams are straight. (If you simply cannot keep them in line, it is better to adopt the seamless kind; and if your stockings always seem to bag at the ankles or knees, you will probably have more success with stretch nylons.)" It is true that the problem with stocking seams can be solved with the so-called RHT stockings, and the problem with excessive bagging and wrinkling can be solved with stretch nylons. However, I must confess I am not a great fan of stretch nylons. I think they became popular only after the eclipse, and during the last decades they have been further developed with a fabric called lycra. I don't know why, but to me there is something wrong with this fabric...!?
Anyway, fortunately there are other means to resort to before using stretch nylons. First of all, if one has the problem one should not wear very short stockings and very long straps. I think this combination was very common in the 50s, but it will easily cause the stockings to rotate on the leg, and the vertical stability of the stockings will also be reduced. Secondly, a girl should be careful not to wear stockings that are too large, as the girdle or garter belt will not be able to properly control the stockings in this way either.
What a girl should do is to find a brand of stockings that are neither too short, nor too long, and wear them with a girdle with relatively short straps and good support. In this way she will always feel comfortable and secure, and her stockings will never wrinkle, bag or twist too much.
I just spent a few hours revisiting some of the happiest — and most racinating — hours of my girlhood. Then and now, I had those hours courtesy of this wonderful book, "Madame Alexander's Ladies of Fashion".
Every page is filled with lovely color pictures of dolls in beautiful clothes. I remember that as a girl, I never was able to pick a favorite picture out of this book. In fact, I couldn't choose a picture to show you, there are so many excellent ones to pick from, so I simply opened the book at random and gave you this one of the darling blue dress.
The picture of the ballerina doll, however, I did pick on purpose... because a doll exactly like this one was the dearest companion of my childhood. Her name is Cindy. The only difference is that Cindy has an all-pink headdress, instead of the pink-and-blue one here. Yes, I still have her, and she still has her pink tutu, though I lost her shoes years ago. Indeed, she shows the signs of a great deal of childish affection and of the various adventures we had.
And do you know, because of those memories, I think she deserves to have their visible signs removed! Yes, I am going to take Cindy to a doll hospital and see what they can do for her. And surely somewhere in Elektra-space I can replace her slippers....
For some time I've been watching for someplace where white tennis balls can be bought. Not because I play tennis myself — I don't — but because so many pettes have mentioned that they need them. Of course, it seems that in the Pit, one can buy any color of tennis balls *except* white. (I confess that the pink ones were somewhat tempting....)
And now I just might have found a place or two in Elektra-space where Real tennis balls can be acquired! This one is in Pakistan, of all places, but as the site is in English, I expect they'd be willing to send things to our neck of the woods. I only hope the trademark on the balls isn't too bongo, or perhaps can be removed.
The other I'm not entirely sure about. The page says, down at the bottom, "We can special order Penn’s new titanium ball for you as well as an old fashioned all-white tennis ball." I don't know what a titanium ball is — surely they can't mean it's made of metal... can they? — but they say they can order white balls. I hope it's true!
One of you tennis enthusiasts, investigate this and tell the rest of us about the results!
But did you actually see the pink ones. In my experience they are not the sort of candy-pink you or I would have in mind, but a beastly pink, a bit like coconut-candy with too much cochineal, only fluorescent.
It goes without saying that it is impossible to be at the same time well-dressed and badly-groomed, for the two things are contradictory — even when the bad grooming consists merely of such details as a few unruly locks, a pair of soiled gloves, a run in a stocking, a run-down heel, a dusting of dandruff on the collar, or a perspiration stain.
The cornerstone of elegance might be represented by a bar of soap. While being well-scrubbed, shampooed and brushed may not automatically lead to elegance (if it did, the most elegant women in the world would be hospital nurses), it is nevertheless a fact that a woman cannot be elegant unless she is perfectly groomed.
There is a certain kind of carelessness, a more or less studied negligence, which can in certain circumstances (on vacation, for example) be the height of chic. But these subtleties are not within the grasp of every woman, and it is far better to look as if you stepped out of a bandbox than as if you had just tumbled out of bed.
Every woman should have at her disposal a full-length mirror as well as a good magnifying hand mirror. And she should not consider herself presentable until she has checked to make sure that:
You need not be discouraged by the length of this list, because all of these details can be taken in at a single glance — and a few seconds every day is a very modest investment to ensure your self-confidence.
Chronic and habitual bad grooming in a woman, to the extent of really ‘letting herself go’, is either a matter of character or of physical or moral fatigue.
In the first case, there is very little hope of improvement. But the second requires no more than a better organisation of one’s daily program or a little moral encouragement in order to inspire the necessary will power to take the time to go to the hairdresser’s, or to make an appointment for a manicure.
The hairdresser is a powerful antidote in cases of nervous breakdowns. A badly groomed woman is almost always depressed or disillusioned, and the idea of improving one's morale by trying a new hair style is much more than an amusing legend; it is a genuine therapeutic remedy.
We kept meaning to mention that the counter at the bottom of the page has already reached 3,000 visitors, but it is now already pushing on toward 4,000. Not bad for half a month, we feel!
As good as our word (well, aren't we always?) we have popped another Spirituality piece. rather unseasonal, we fear, as it is a winter piece, and most of us are melting quietly in the summer heat, but the message is one for all seasons. Read The Gentle Way and learn how near-Estrennes (or easterly Westrennes) of a religious disposition talk. And, perhaps, why we ought to listen.
The Blonde Management
We are rapidly completing the design for the New-Look Aristasia Friends. The front page of the Philosophy/Spirituality Section now has an innovative split design showing both aspects of its subject. It is still a little unfinished, but we thought you might like to see it. And to launch the new Spirituality part we have an interview with Miss Serendra Serelique entitled An Introduction to Aristasian Faith and Spirituality. This answers a number of basic questions and provides a better introduction to the whole subject than we have previously had in Elektraspace. We are planning to add more on this subject very soon.
The Blonde Management
In pursuance of our continuing campaign to make Aristasia-in-Elektraspace better in every way, we have now set up an Enquiry Desk at the Aristasian Central Library. From there you can search either the whole of this site or the entire seventy-odd volumes of the Original Aphrodite Cocktail Bar Archive for any subject, name word or topic you wish. Over the years, we have discussed just about any topic you can think of, so have fun browsing for the things that interest you.
The Blonde Management
A new piece has popped up: Crime and Punishment in Aristasia. This is actually reproduced from the title story of The District Governess, and is a very informative discussion of the Aristasian concepts of Law and Order — concepts that are ultimately rooted in Celestial law and the Order of the Cosmos.
If you have already read the piece in The District Governess, you may still want to take a look as it is illustrated with some rather striking photographs of Constabels.
The Blonde Management
Miss Taganov and I were glum this evening and knew something had to be done about it. We thought about going out to dinner, but we'd already eaten. "There's always book-shopping," I said, "but that would be an awful idea." (I alluded of course to our numerous excesses in this regard during the past week, and, well, our entire lives.)
"A terrible idea," she agreed.
"A horrible idea," I added.
"Let's put on our faces!"
And off we went. After all, it had been a full 23 hours since we'd last expanded our library. Miss Taganov had the tragic misfortune of not finding anything she couldn't live without, but was good enough to buy me an immensely practical little book I thought I should share with my dear friends in Elektraspace.
It is A Guide to Elegance by Mme Genevieve Antoine Dariaux, who was the directrice of Nina Ricci for simply ages. It was published in 1964, and probby written before that, which I think lets it just squeeze by on the Right Side of the Eclipse. And the bits I've read thus far seem very sound. Much discussion of the jewellery appropriate to different occasions, times of day, and ensembles, and other such weighty matters.
Another instructive volume I could recommend to you girls is The Technique of the Love Affair by A Gentlewoman (really Doris Langley Moore). Alas, the only edition widely available at the mome of this 1928 classic features bongo commentary which assumes a girl doesn't know the first thing about the Real World. But said commentary is in tiny print and is easily ignored, especially if one doesn't wear one's glasses. Miss Dorothy Parker was a fan, and wrote in The New Yorker, "The Technique of the Love Affair makes, I am bitterly afraid, considerable sense. If only it had been placed in my hands years ago, maybe I could have been successful instead of just successive."
Does anyone know any other up-to-date advice books? I'm very keen to expand my collection, now it's off to such a promising start!
Miss parker also said "Brunettes don't make passes at blondes who wear glasses", so perhaps she didn't read the introduction either. Not that I suspect Miss Parker for one teensy mome of being a blonde.
As to this Eclipse-date thing, it has been the subject of much discussion. 1963 is a very notional and on-the-safe-side date. I think most would agree that there is a very vague and fuzzy area between, say, 1963 and the Year of the Skunk (1968) when, while there were some terrible developments in general culture much of it was still intact. For example, we have watched a lot of I Dream of Jeannie television programmes made in 1966, and as far as I can see they are wholly unexceptionable on all possible points, even to the sternest culture-critic. I tend to think the Absolute Cut-Off Point is the turn of the decade, though, by the last two years, wholly and unimpeachably sound things become quite scarce.
After being unavailable for a short time, the Original Aphrodite Cocktail Bar Archives are now hosted at the Wildfire Club. Experience life in Aristasian Elektraspace from almost-the-beginning with lots of delicious pictures. The Embassy pettes are working on tidying up the volumes, so the Archives will be better, easier to find and to read than ever. g'boing to:
Also, for the first time there is a Central Index Page for our very own Girls' Town Archives.
The Librarians love us too!
The Blonde Management
Members of the Aristasia Elektrapost-group may already be aware that the group has now ceased to function. However the life and work of the group continues at Aristasia Circle All former members of the Aristasia group are invited to join the Aristasia Circle and are assured that the friendly, informal Aristasian chat will continue as before. And of course, new girls who were not members of the Aristaia group are cordially invited to join Aristasia Circle.
All girls are welcome. You do not have to be an aristasian or even to know much about Aristasia. It is a free, open group for any girl with even the most general interest in Aristasia. The only qualification is that you must be female. No em-ee-en, please.
We look forward very much to welcoming you all, old members and new, to the Aristasia Circle.
Marilyn and Marlene
What a magnificent decoration job the Blonde Management has done at Girlstown.
I certainly love the new station in all it's art neo glory. I always think that there is nothing more glamourous, or indeed real, than a journey taken by railway.
I think I might just trot off to the Dining Car where I hear they serve a most delicious afternoon tea.
Our Front Page is now complete. Well, very nearly. Everything is there now, but a few things aren't quite working yet. However we have been working uncommonly hard to get all the plumbing up and running. All the stations are there and most of the trains are chuffing. Do take a look.
SO - we now have a new Central Library and are starting to arrange a collection of Aristasian Texts.
We also have, as that Fungaloid Princess promised an essay on Nursery Rhymes and their Inner Meaning from back in the mists of time, newly edited and illustrated for your entertainment and edification.
More new things on the way. But have a look at these ones. We think you'll like them!
The Blonde Management
Busy, busy times at castle Mushroom. Word has it that simply tillions of new things are about to pop in Elektraspace. A new Central Library for Aristasia, and a classic essay from way back in the early days of Aristasia-in-Telluria about the Inner Meaning of Nursery Rhymes, which, apparently, are very profound and metaphysical. Some of them, anyway.
On a much lower level, the Princess has been sleeping on the floor. Yes really. The Royal bed would not fit into the Castle, being a somewhat small Castle as Castles go. So the Royal Champignon has been lying on a matteress on the floor, just like those Estrenne holy-maids you read about.
Not that the Princess really minds sleeping on a mattress on the floor — providing nobody puts a pea under it, which fortunately nobody did.
Now however, the princess is proud to say she has a Real and Proper Bed of thouroughly Castlesque and Princessy proportion, as jolly well befits.
We went simply miles to get it. Miss Clare took us in her super-brunette monster truck, that being the only vehicle in the District big enough to tote said bed. We also had Swedish meatballs before our shopping, to pre-fortify us, and ice-cream afterwards, to post-fortify us.
Here is a picture of the Royal Bed. And if that doesn't keep you going until the Mystical Nursery Rhymes come along, I don't know what will.
The Great Aristasian Rollercoaster rolls on. Or coasts on. Either way, we have some exciting new announcements for you. Lets's save the best till last.
First of all, the Traveller's Guide to Aristasia, which has been unavailable since our rather careless loss of the old aristasia-dot-com site (now invaded by Elektraspace Pirates) is back in action in our brand new introductory section. If you've never read it do take a look. And if you have read it, you may be interested to see its graphical face-lift. There is one thing there you may find irresistible.
Secondly a classic short Secessionist essay, The Equality Police is now avalaible at the Penthouse Library of the Harmony point. If you like Pit-crit you will certainly enjoy it.
But thirdly — sit down, have a little drink — the big announcement of the weekend; of the week; of the month; possibly of the year (though we have a few other surprises planned this year). One of the great Aristasian Classics is back in print. None other than The District Governess. Pop over and read all about it. You'll be very glad you did.
Lots of love,
The Blonde Management
We have been so quiet here lately that you just knew we were up to something, didn't you? Well, we've been Elektra-decorating. In fact Elektra-architecting might be a better term for some of it. We are getting the sleek and sheeny Aristasian Elektraspace Machine in fighting trim for a New Era of Aristasia-in-Telluria.
After all this time, Aristasia Friends has finally had a face-lift. Go to our front page and you will find it has changed — not just a little bit, but completely.
You will remember the train announcement that was popped up there a little while ago. Well that is the only bit that hasn't changed and now the rest of it has taken on the Railway Theme — using trains and stations as a metaphor for movement in Elektraspace. Lovely Art-Neo trains, of course, and real up-to-date stations. The sections have changed a bit and a big reorganisation is under way. All Pit-criticism will be taken away from Aristasia Friends (keeping it purely Aristasian) and moved to the Penthouse Library at the Harmony Point.
And you will also be interested to know that the Roof Garden is now open there for discussion of the topics presented in the library and any other matters of Aristasian interest but not strictly Aristasian. The discussion has been initiated by our very dear Miss Taganov of Belladonna.
In case you find the new shop-window lacking in — well — pinkness we are pleased to say that by way of compensation, the new Introductory Section page is very pink. Some of the new structure is still a bit flimsy. We are working on a whole new presentation for Aristasia in this new Era of Castle Mushroom.
The Blonde Management
Did you ever wonder where the night club in Children of the Void got its name? It is from a Vintesse book by Margaret Kennedy, made into three films including one for which the lovely Joan Fonteyn received an Oscar nomination.
What about it, you ask? Well on a site not far from here you may read a review of the book called "True and False Bohemians" which not only talks about the delightful book but includes some profound criticism which sheds a lot of Essentialist light on the current state of the Pit.
You will find it at the new Penthouse Library at the top of the Harmony Point building, which houses Miss Martindale's Electronic Department Store.
Not sure where that is? Well, you can't miss it. Just click here.
The Blonde Management
Written after the Avenbridge School visit to the Tamara de Lempicka Exhibition at the Royal Academy on the 9th of July.
Well, it isn't actually the Day after Tamara, but I have been planning to use that pun for so long, I just couldn't stop myself.
In point of fact, it is the day after that, as we stayed overnight in London with Miss B in her charming Trentish flat and lunched at the Ritz.
Actually I have to admit that, while we passed the glorious Arcadian portals of the Ritz the previous night, the Ritz that we lunched in was a funny little café called the Ritz Café. This Mushroom has dined at the other Ritz on a number of occasions — as well as the Savoy, the Dorchester, Claridges and various other delightful places — but the mighty are a bit fallen au mome and the Ritz Café was about all we could manage.
Though to tell the truth, I have always liked funny little cafés, even at the height of my Savoy days. To walk with Queens, nor lose the common touch, and all that. Which is not to say that I have ever had, or ever wanted to have, the Common Touch. Good heavens there is enough of that in the Yeek without my adding to it! But I do like funny little cafés where one has egg, bacon and chips and Cappuccino out of a mug. Imagine drinking anything out of a mug. It feels so delightfully naughty.
But I digress. At least I think I do. You are wanting to know about the Exhibish, I plumb reckon. Well, it was gorgeous beyond all gorgeous, and then a bit gorgeouser than that. I have never seen a Tamara in the flesh — or oil — before, though there is a very good painted copy at the Embassy. Seeing them as they Really Are was just too, too thrilling. And then seeing some I have never seen before. Like the one above.
Do you know it? It is called Portrait of Romana de la Salle. I had a hard job deciding which one to put here, but this had to be the first. I feel it is just the perfect Art-Neo depiction of blondeness. The wonderful pink; the exquisite geometry of the folds, at once crystal-sharp and candy-femme. The softness of the arms, the delicate poise of the hands, the face pensive and profound. This is not the fluffiness of blondery, but its emotional and spiritual depth, yet nonetheless surrounded by all that flouncy pinkness. Here is a vision that perhaps only an Aristasian can fully understand.
So much was talked about that it is hard to convey an impression of it all. We met the delightful Nancy for the first time in ages. We spoke of a new phase of Aristasian Action, reaching out to touch more girls and to fire the imagination. Fire the Imagination is our watchword for this Year of Sai Raya. I is the year for communicating the beauty, romance and adventure of our wonderful Aristasian Motherland.
I think none of us can have failed to draw inspiration for this new initiative from this truly wonderful exhibition which seemed to encapsulate the romantic and imaginative life of the Empire and its feminine, spiritual Art-Neo aesthetic.
So much more to say, but must dash. Meanwhile, to restore balance, here is a beautiful portrait of the High Brunette spirit entitled The Blue Scarf. If these are as new to you as they were to me, I think I may well leave you a little while to study, digest and rhapsodise.
Dear Miss Candy
The idea of a household centred around traditionalist and classical cultural values sounds absolutely wonderful, and I contemplate the possibility of relocating to England in order to be a part of something like it. (Here in Scandinavia, where I live right now, such a household would hardly be a possibility).
In your description you use the term 'Victorian'. How literal is this to be taken? You mention furniture and classical music as well as manner of life in general: "a wonderfully old-fashioned and dignified way of life". You also mention the feeling of being born in the wrong time. This describes my exact cultural preferences and feelings!
However, I am not particularly Victorian in other respects; e.g. I am totally influenced by the standards of Kadoria and Quirinelle when I dress. I like suits, petticoats, wide skirts and pencil skirts along with girdles and nylon stockings. Would such standards be inappropriate in an Arcadian household?
Apart from this I can say that I am 49 years old, and that I work in the fields of literature and theatre/drama as a teacher and researcher. Of course it would take a lot of effort to relocate to England, but if it is the right thing to do, there will always be a way to achieve the goal.
For those of you who were thinking "Tamara never comes", we are delighted to announce that there is now a definite date for the two-schools visit to the Tamara de Lempicka exhibition (pupils please note that the "c" is pronounced as an "s" - the ending "cka" is the feminine of "cki", the Polish equivalent of the more familiar Russian "ski").
This will be a wonderful opportunity to see some of the works of Aristasia's favourite painter in real life, and perhaps to see some that one has never encountered before. Mme. de Lempicka is the perfect exponent of feminine Art-Neo painting, and a brunette as glamorous as her wonderful work.
It will also be an opportunity for the Two Schools to have an joint event (Avendale members too far from London will be able to attend an online exhibition at the Llangollen Gallery), for Avenbridge girls to have a delightful outing, for old friends of Aristasia to meet us again and for new girls to make their first contact.
The visit will take place on Friday the 9th of July in the evening. The Exhibition is at the Royal Academy and stays open until 10 p.m. There will also be a bar with a jazz trio from 6:30 to 9:30. A candlelight dinner at the restaurant is also a possibility, but that will need to be arranged in advance, so any one interested should let us know as soon as possible.
This is an open event. All girls who are interested in Aristasia are welcome to come and meet us. In fact, it will be a very good opportunity to do so. You do not have to be a member of Avenbridge or Avendale Schools. You do not have to have met us before. If you have been interested in Aristasia and would like to meet some real Aristasians and friends of Aristasia, just drop us a line and we can make the necessary arrangements. The only Stringent Requirement is that you be a genuine female.
Looking forward to seeing you.
The Blonde Management
Ladies Sought To Found a Victorian Household
If you, like us, are a Victorian soul born in the wrong time and fancy to live a life filled with elegance, graciousness and femininity, this is the right chance to make your dream come true.
We are a small group of women based in Britain and have recently had the idea to found a Victorian household. We hope to share the rent of a period house, to lavishly decorate it with Victorian furniture and to enjoy a wonderfully old-fashioned and dignified way of life. Whereas computers and microwave oven are welcome, jeans, rock and decadent pop culture will not be part of our lives.
We'll enjoy teas, dinner parties, literature and classical music and of course what suits the Ladies who will join us. This offer is open to any like-minded female of any age (we aim to create a safe and stable environment therefore we can't regretfully accept gentlemen) and it especially suits single professionals, retired Ladies, single mums, students able to pay a rent. A delightful note: there will be one or two servants who will see to all the cleaning, laundry and cooking so we will be pampered like proper Victorian Ladies. This is granted since we have already a girl available to do all the chores in exchange for free accomodation and we think it would work out wonderfully for everyone.
The location of the house is still to be decided, we are prone to consider Greater London due to its easy accessibility but it all depends on where we get the more responses. The size of the house will of course depend on the final numbers. It may be just a cozy four of us (including the maid) or a larger "family". We are really looking forward to hearing from you, everything has to be decided and we find it the most exciting adventure ever. If you think it's just too good to be true, write us and be surprised: even good things happen from time to time!
Isn't it true that when two people have the same dream, that dream starts to become reality?
Oh, and before you ask me what these pictures have to do with my lucubrations, the answer is nothing. I just love them. Thank you, Miss T!
Did one mention recently that punishments are like buses? You don't have one for weeks, and then the whole Quirrie Leyland fleet comes roaring along at once. Did I also mention that big, dreadful punishments are like buses Well, one probably should have.
Recently a few things have happened to me along punitive lines. Yesterday I had a Saturday School that, after a rather pleasant Latin lesson (I like Latin, believe it or not — at least, I do so far), wound up with my copying the most tedious Arcadian text about multiplication that was ever read, written or even dreamed about. It spent thousands of words describing in mind-numbing detail every operation involved in multiplying two numbers, and for reasons too complex to go into, I was supervised by a prefect who had an imposition of her own to write (how are the mighty fallen - heehee) and could not finish until I did.
Well, it took hours. And when I say hours, I am not indulging my usual penchant for hyperbole. I mean hours. At least three and a half of them, and that is without the Latin at the start or the fact that I had a massive exercise on the History of Language to do before I could actually go.
Said prefect was not best pleased with my "keeping her there" (keeping her there - what about me?) and found reasons to use strap and paddle. Well, I say "found reasons". I did have an uncontrollable fit of the giggles when she complained at me for taking so long, which was not, I grant you, tactful. But the point about an uncontrollable fit of the giggles is that it is uncontrollable. I didn't want to giggle. I certainly didn't find anything funny in the sitch. I suppose it was a sort of nervous reaction. Anyway, this led to a paddling (which made me laugh more even though it was horrid) and a strapping on the hands which nearly made me cry and thus made me stop laughing.
A week before that, I had a birching. You may well gasp in horror and cover your mouth. Birchings are not common at this school. In fact this is the only one I have heard of. Well, I did get myself into a bit of a scrape. I am not a bad blonde, really — but a bit reckless, and a bit thoughtless sometimes. I shan't tell you the gory Ds of my misdeeds. No, shut up: I shan't and that's that. If you want to hear any of the story you can just shut up.
Anyway Miss Brightmore lay me on a long desk and used what she assured me was a very light birch quite lightly. I believe her. I also believe that I should not like to know anything about a heavier birch used more heavily. I wiggled so much that she put a big canvas strap thing round my middle to hold me still. Well, it hurt. I can still feel bits of it now.
And I shan't tell you about the fact that I had to copy out The Dream of the Rood in English and Old English — an imposition of which my most beloved Blonde Confidante made light. But I think she has little experience in actually doing impositions. Some people have all the luck.
Which brings me on — sort of — to my ruminashers. I keep wondering what I feel about punishments like this. They are rare enough, I assure you. I know some girls are fascinatinated by them. My schoolfriend Beth, when birching was mentioned, showed great interest and I think would have liked to try it. Well, she is welcome. She can have mine any time. I had no interest at all in trying it. Punishment is not my idea of fun. It certainly does not "stimulate" me in any way. It just hurts.
And as for monstrous impositions — I actually dislike the act of writing in and of itself. I don't mind typing, but writing — even signing a typed letter — I find irksome. I hate my own handwriting and consider writing a nasty, messy, tedious business that always leaves a page of hateful scrawl that I never want to look at again. I started typing at the age of ten and never hand-wrote another word that I didn't absolutely have to. Written impositions, in other words, bother me more than they bother most people.
So if you asked me "Would you eliminate punishment entirely from your young li