All Tied Up Necklace
Tee: J. C. Penney's
Shoes: Bongo, Kohl's
Bag: Princess Vera, Kohl's
Leggings: J. C. Penney's
Girly Gumball Necklace
Tee: She Said, J. C. Penney's
Skirt: J. C. Penney's
Mellow Medallions Necklace
Sweatshirt: Eric and Lani, Macy's
Shoes: Guess, DSW
Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's
Sunglasses: J. C. Penney's
Bright Bird Necklace
Jeans: Simply Vera, Kohl's
Shoes: Ami Clubwear
Bag: Bisou Bisou, J. C. Penney's
Sunglasses: Cloud Nine, Ocean City boardwalk
Affection Confection Necklace
Sunglasses: J. C. Penney's
My latest bead bonanza from Etsy's Olivia Madison Company.
Last week I received an exciting new shipment of Olivia Madison Company beads. I used half of them to make the (relatively) simple necklaces featured in this week's post. The other half I used to make some of my least simple pieces ever -- but more on that next Sunday (or Monday or Tuesday). This week the focus is on the beads. And what beads they are! The thing I love most about Olivia Madison Company is its astonishing stock of colorful, kitschy, kawaii-crazy styles. Every shape, color, and material imaginable is up for grabs -- the shop is a veritable craft supply candy store! What's more, it almost always has just what I'm looking for. Although the glass and shell styles you find at most brick and mortar chains are pretty, for so many projects, nothing but punky plastic will do. That was certainly the case when it came to accessorizing the screen tees (and one sweatshirt) in this week's ensembles.
That was the screen print part of this post. Here's the other part.
People like to say, "There are two kinds of people in this world . . .," filling in the blanks with infinite combinations of descriptors, such as morning people and night people, winners and losers, rich people and poor people, introverts and extroverts, city people and country people, and so on. There are sound arguments for these truths and legions of others. But on weeknights between 7:00 and 8:00, only one comes to mind to me: "There are two kinds of people, those who like "Jeopardy," and those who like "Wheel of Fortune." '
Before I talk about where I stand on that one, I should probably backtrack a bit.
I didn't used to like "Jeopardy." I thought its players were boring and pedantic, and I found the all-blue set as unforgiving as an igloo. To be fair, I wasn't all that into "Wheel of Fortune" either, (apparently I've already alluded to this; as I've always feared, this blog is turning me into a rambling, repetitive relative type), although I did like the wheel's wild colors and Vanna's impressive parade of dresses. But there was something especially foreboding about Alex Trebek and his battalion of brainiacs. It wasn't even until I moved in with the husband, a longtime "Jeopardy" fan, that I began to watch the show regularly. Each evening at 7:00, the familiar theme song would fill our living room, often over my litany of dinnertime woes, the star of which was, "Can you take a look at this chicken? It still looks a little pink to me." At first, I just didn't get it. What did the husband see in these eggheads? I dismissed his fascination with the same psychological shrug I gave his Discovery Channel and History Channel habits. Knowledge, unsweetened by the sugar-spun snares of fiction, held no appeal for my story-soaked sensibilities. But as the weeks went by, I was surprised to find my disdain giving way to delight. I began to look forward to the nightly dose of clever category titles, snarky sidebars (from Alex), and quirky contestants. One of my favorite parts was when the players talked about themselves. Their odd jobs, offbeat hobbies, and interesting anecdotes transformed them from personality-challenged ivory tower dwellers to the kind of people who probably had trouble navigating dinner parties or finding their way to the subway. They were vulnerable, and as such, suddenly more sympathetic than their "Wheel" counterparts, who blithely bleated about amazing spouses and darling children with the kind of overzealous emptiness of awards show presenters reading from teleprompters. Sure, those people seemed warmer with their talk of family and pets and volunteer work. But it was a warmth that seemed to be missing something.
That having been said, I was a "Jeopardy" devotee by the time that Julia Collins began what would prove to be her history-making twenty-game streak some four weeks ago. Each night I tuned in to see if the thirty-one-year-old supply chain consultant would rack up yet another victory. When she invariably delivered, I was as impressed by her down-to-earth demeanor as I was by her mastery of minutiae. And I wasn't the only one. A Google search yielded articles in which viewers referred to Collins as "humble," an assessment Collins herself challenged, asserting that she was nothing of the sort and played at the top of her competitive powers. I found this interesting; if anything, her amiability was an asset, not a liability in need of defense. Then again, when pressed (interviewers being what they are) Collins also mentioned the bit of bias embedded in being labeled as the top ever female "Jeopardy" earner (she walked away with more than $400,000), so I could understand how she might feel the need to distance herself from traditionally female (i.e. weak) traits such as niceness. Still, niceness, when genuine, is perhaps the rarest and most precious of social commodities, no matter what your gender, and, as I mentioned previously, part of what endeared me to "Jeopardy" in the first place.
Deep thoughts, and certainly not the kind to be found revolving around the "Wheel." Unless, of course, you want to delve into an analysis of Pat Sajak's global warming tweets.