As far as blogs go, I’m nearing saturation point on fashion/decor/food/fitness. I think I’ve read about adding “pops of color,” neon, and peplum to outfits enough. Chevron floors and lucite trays are cool, yes, but I’ve got my fill for a while. I don’t need to see blood oranges incorporated into another recipe. I know as much as I would like to know about the paleo diet. (But don’t hold me to these statements for over 24 hours. I’m sure I’ll be back to read about it all soon.)
Today’s site is a departure from these image-heavy blogs. Instead, it’s a word-weighty tumblr, and it’s called Ring Them Bells. I hope that writing blogs like these are just a currently untapped planet in the blogosphere for me because I’d like to come across many more.
Every few days, a woman named Elizabeth posts something. Sometimes it’s a funny and spontaneous musing like so:
“The problem with peach nail polish is that it often straddles a very fine line between sweet vintage and mortuary beauty school. If you can’t tell the difference you better avoid it altogether. There is nothing like sitting at your desk and wondering whether or not you look like you’ve been done up by someone who exclusively paints the dead.”
or like this:
“What is the difference between a goldfish and a slice of canned mandarin orange? Very little. And yet, when confronted with this striking textural similarity, why do people continue to eat the latter?”
or a well-articulated snapshot from her life like this:
“The summer before our wedding, B spent his weekends out on the back steps building me this bookshelf—and another just like it. That’s love, isn’t it? It was months of sawdust in my tomato plants, and afternoons punctuated by the shriek of the buzz saw and then the inevitable thump of the wood against the landing. When I think of that summer, I remember only endless trips to the hardware store. The sharp smell of varnish. The constant washing of clothes.
The night we maneuvered the first shelf inside; stacked one piece atop the other until it stood just inches below the ceiling—we laughed uncontrollably. We stood back marveling at its majesty; surprised by its enormity. Afraid, maybe, that we had made a mistake. Next to it, I had never felt so dwarfed, so insignificant and wonderfully small. It took hours, and a step stool to fill it. But we did—beers in-hand, the waves of passing cars and the wind in the trees drifting in from an open window.”
And one picture for the post– under this shoe, Elizabeth imagines the likely sequence of events for the wearer.
“1. Don a powdery white curled wig, sneer.
2. Convert your father’s hunting lodge into an extravagant palace. Launch four building campaigns all in the name of opulently greeting foreign dignitaries.
3. Commence a seemingly endless string of wars. Bankrupt the State.
4. Die old, shortly after legitimatizing all of your bastard children.”
It’s an interesting blog, and it’s great for when you’re tired of statement necklaces, white airy kitchens, and cake pops.
(All images and words from Ring Them Bells)