Having a Ball: The Media Circus, Most Macabre of All

Shoes: Impo, DSW

Bag: Current Mood, Dolls Kill

Skirt: Macy's

Fabulous Felt Balloons Barrette

Top: Kingston Grey, Macy's

Belt: Belt is Cool, Amazon

Bag: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Circus Clown Barrette Brooch

Bow barrette: Carole, JCPenney; Rainbow necklace: Cloud Nine, Ocean City; Ring: Wet Seal; Red Necklace: Wet Seal; Bangles: B Fabulous

Dress: Zulily

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Skirt: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Sunglasses: FantasEyes, JCPenney

Top: Candie's, Kohl's

If you've been reading this blog for awhile, then you know that I have a love-hate relationship with the circus that I can't stop talking about.  On the love side, there's color, lights, and the tutus of the tightrope walkers.  On the hate side, there's refuse, sad animals, and the mangy mane of the one-armed juggler.  Ball pits represent a sliver of that, what with their riveting rainbow of camouflaged pee (never mind that you're more likely to find a ball pit in a Chuck E. Cheese than under the big top; Chuck E. Cheese is a circus unto itself).  So I was excited to bust out these gumball-like globes (I've had them since Easter) to stage my new Circus Clown Barrette Brooch.  Because they bring the fun of the pit minus the pitfalls.    

Of course, these days, the scariest circus isn't the one stunk up by urine or even a two-headed clown, but the one with media in front of it.  And a media circus spins all its plates and then some in the dark comedy Breaking News in Yuba County.  It boasts an all-star cast including Allison Janney, Mila Kunis, Regina Hall, Wanda Sykes, Awkwafina, Ellen Barkin, and Juliette Lewis as well as, like any entertainment worth its salted peanuts, an array of wild wigs.  Janney leads as Sue Buttons, a mousy call center drone who's addicted to sensational news stories and chants affirmations at the grocery store (I am enough!).  Which sounds kooky, but sticking her head into the sands of self-help and pseudo-journalism makes more sense once we learn that her husband's a jerk who forgot her birthday.  It turns out that she's at the grocery store to pick up her own cake, which is misspelled.  Spoiler alert: the bakery clerk won't fix it.  Just when Sue thinks that things can't possibly get any worse, she follows her husband to a motel and catches him cheating.  He drops dead, and Sue seizes the opportunity to snag the recognition she craves by reporting him, not dead, but missing.  Soon she's the star of the biggest missing persons case on the news, much to the delight of her equally fame-hungry reporter sister (Mila Kunis).  But the stunt sets off a chain of violent events that reveal that hubby was hiding more than a mistress.

Always a fan of humor with edge, I enjoyed this movie despite its sometimes gratuitous gore.  Because for all its sensationalism, Breaking News in Yuba County delivers a message not so different from that of the sadly canceled (sniff sniff) Good Girls: Be nice to women or else. 

Thankfully, the weirdest thing to happen at my circus is a disembodied clown head bobbing up over the big top.  Because -- surprise! -- it's not a head at all, but a balloon.

Or is it?  I guess that's for its future owner to say.  

Talk about buyer beware.   

Out of My Depp: A is for Anchorwoman

Top: Candie's, Kohl's; Skirt (a dress!): Macy's; Shoes: Not Rated, Journeys; Bag: Betsey Johnson, Amazon; Fuchsia belt: Belt is Cool, Amazon; Peach belt: Izod, Marshalls; Blue bangle: So, Kohl's; Lime bangle: B Fabulous; Coral bangle: Silver Linings, Ocean City; Striped bangle: Mixit, JCPenney

Anchors emblazon everything from cardigans to pillows to flesh (I'm talking tattoos).  But just what is it about these nautical notions that charm us into desecrating our homes and decorating our bodies?  Their promise of a glam getaway and/or safe harbor?  Their association with a simpler, more romantic time?  Or is our love for them nothing more than the product of our preoccupation with Popeye?  (All waterways, it seems, lead back to tattoos.)  In the end, all that matters is that anchors are aces.  And that I had a whale of a time incorporating them into this Bright This Ship Necklace:  

Bright This Ship Necklace

Because when you go bright, you never go wrong.  Unless, of course, your craft is so colorful that it attracts a posse of pirates who commandeer it for their rutabaga smuggling ring (when it comes to contraband, root vegetables are funnier than rum.)  If that doesn't say piece-of-Pirates-of-the-Caribbean-footage-on-the-cutting-room-floor, then I don't know what does.

Unless it's Johnny Depp dressed as a rutabaga and belting out a ribald riddle.       

By the way, I hear that Mr. Depp's bankrupt.  For enough clams, I bet he'd be down.  

Saab Story Dory: Still Waters Pun Deep

We all know a grumpy old man.  Or at the very least have seen one on TV, whether he be an old-in-spirit-only curmudgeon like Ron Swanson, or one of the classic geriatrics from (what else?) Grumpy Old Men.  People say that oldsters get so crotchety because they've endured so much and have had enough already.  Which I thought I understood.  But then I read Fredrik Backman's A Man Called Ove and realized I didn't understand anything. 

Not too long ago, I read -- and very much enjoyed -- Backman's Anxious People.  But A Man Called Ove was Backman's first novel.  I'd always wanted to read it, and when Ellie of Ivy's Closet and Caitlin & Megan said I'd like it, I made an Amazon order.  As a librarian, Ellie knows books.

So, Ove.  When we meet him in suburban Sweden, he's the epitome of the irate, set-in-his-ways, hates-everyone senior citizen.  He loathes technology, people who aren't punctual, and cats.  He's always driven a Saab and distrusts anyone who drives anything else.  Never mind that he's only fifty-nine.  Ove is the kind that's been old all his life.  But the death of his adored wife, Sonja, as well as the loss of his job have exacerbated his already cantankerous ways.  Every morning, he patrols his neighborhood in search of burglars and other miscreants.  He oils his kitchen counters whether they need it or not.  He fixes things in his toolshed.  And he does it all not to pass the time, but because he needs to be useful.  As Ove's own Sonja said, ' "All people want to live dignified lives; dignity just means something different to different people." ' (274)

Backman does this clever thing where he alternates between Ove's past and present, making everything seem at the same time old-fashioned and timeless.  It turns out that Ove's life has been exceptionally sad, and Backman fleshes out each flashback with details so heartbreaking -- and, yes, sometimes funny -- that I couldn't help but be endeared to this angry old man who has very good reasons for being angry after all.  In this way, A Man Called Ove reminds me of another beloved book, Gabrielle Zevin's The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry.  Both are about seemingly misanthropic men who've been burned but turn things around just in time to trust again and appreciate life.  And that's my favorite kind of story.  

If Ove knew that he was the subject of this post -- well, if Ove were a real person and knew that he was the subject of this post -- then he would hate it, right down from the publicity (if you could call it that) to the hot pink background.  And that amuses me. 

Because documenting stuff with humor and heart is where I find my dignity.

And I like to think that Ove would respect that -- if only because I made a pun about Saab.

Some Stuff So Nice I Wore it Twice: Pairs and Pears, No Gala for You

Flower clip: Capelli ULTA; Necklace: Amrita Singh, Zulily

Chase & Chloe, Zulily

Skirt: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Bag: Zulily; Sunglasses: Amazon; Rings: Express; Bangle: Don't Ask, Zulily; Flower clip: Claire's

Yellow bangle: Mixit, JCPenney; Coral bangle: Silver Linings, Ocean City; Floral bangle: Zulily; Chartreuse ring: Claire's; Flower Ring: Seahorse Designs, Etsy; Parrot ring: Francesca's; Wristlet: City Streets, JCPenney

Flip flops: Katy Perry Collections (They smell like coconuts!)

Skirt and top: So, Kohl's

Top: One, Marshalls

Shoes: Katy Perry Collection

Shorts: Merona, Target

Bangles: B Fabulous; Sunglasses: Party City; Bag: Ella & Elly, Amazon

Shoes: Impo, DSW

Top: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Red bangle: XOXO, ROSS; Wristlet: Circus by Sam Edelman, Kohl's; Sunglasses: Wild Fable, Target

Ah, Hawaii.  The pineapples, the poi, and the party-time prints.  It's like summer in a bottle.  Or a message in a bottle -- a cinch to get in, but a bitch to get out.  Much like that bottle, Hawaiian shirt time has rolled around again (two years in, and it's a thing).  Because even if summer is ending, I refuse to renounce my hot tropics togs.  

I had such fun mixing these patterns, the cherry florals and banana palm trees, the blue Hawaii blooms and jade tiki huts.  All of these clothes are old except the turquoise top and skirt, which I got this summer.  Although they're a matched set, each piece was sold separately, which was nice because it meant that I could get different sizes.  Smaller on top and bigger on bottom, I'm no stranger to the pear-shaped game.  Speaking of which, in the third outfit, I'm wearing a pear in my hair.

Fabulous Felt Banana, Pear, and Apple Barrette

I sold its twin some years ago, but this one lives on in my tresses.  On Antiques Roadshow, one of those bow-tied appraisers would be all, ah yes, you can tell that this is an early Tote Trove piece because of the rhinestones, which the artist didn't use much in later years, and also because there's an absence of a stem on the bananas.  It's a little crude, but it has a kind of carnival glamour.  Conservatively speaking, on today's market, I think you could get a bushel of apples for it.  Red delicious of course, not gala.   

Which is fine with me as long as no one has to bob for them in this COVID -- or any other -- climate.  Bobbing for apples is nasty.

Style File and Young Love's Denial: The Legend of Zelda, Game Over

As you know, during this pandemic, I've enjoyed watching TV and movies that might have otherwise remained under the rubble of my entertainment to-do list.  And I'd always wanted to watch Amazon Prime's 2015 limited series Z: The Beginning of Everything.  But back in 2015, I hadn't yet figured out how to stream Amazon on my TV.  Oh, pandemic, how much you have taught us!

Most people know that F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald had a tempestuous relationship.  But it's a hiccup of a historical note often obscured by the glamour of Jazz Age glitter.  Z: The Beginning of Everything tells a different tale, showing Scott not to be the love of Zelda's life but the reason her life was ruined.  

Zelda Sayre (Christina Ricci) is the high-spirited, sought-after southern belle daughter of a respected Montgomery judge.  Spoiled and mischievous, she can have any man -- and dress -- she wants but is bored by a world that's become claustrophobically provincial.  So when dashing F. Scott Fitzgerald rides into town with nothing to do but wait to be deployed (it's World War I time), she's ripe for the picking.  From New York City by way of Minnesota, Scott is an aspiring writer and possesses a savoir faire and intellectualism that Zelda finds refreshing.  Her father is less enthusiastic, and her mother thinks that she should marry the kind and rich, if vapid, John Sellers.  Yet smitten or not, Zelda tells Scott that she won't marry him until he publishes his first novel.  The war is soon over, and Scott gets to work only to have his book rejected.  It's only after he rewrites it with passages stolen from Zelda's letters that This Side of Paradise comes into being and hijacks the zeitgeist.

Zelda and Scott say their I dos in the back of a New York City church that might as well be city hall.  Afterwards, Scott sweeps Zelda off to a raucous party where it's clear that she's an afterthought.  In the days that follow, Scott and his literati set, which includes Edna St. Vincent Millay and Tallulah Bankhead, haze Zelda, criticizing her southern penchant for ruffles.  In the shadow of this sophisticated and self-satisfied circle, the formerly feisty Montgomery maven becomes equal parts attitude and fragility, her big city dreams smoked to cinders.

The turning point comes when Scott buys Zelda an exorbitantly expensive and matronly black suit.  When Zelda wears it, she gets so angry that she chops her hair and buys the spangly dress that she originally wanted, emerging in yet another incarnation, this time as the first flapper.  Zelda's new look, combined with her innate charm and intelligence, lands her her own artistic opportunities.  But Scott squashes them all, insisting that he needs Zelda to be his full-time muse.  Yet it takes more than a muse to inspire this cruel, lazy, and alcoholic party animal predator to just sit down and write already.  Watching his trainwreck behavior, I couldn't help but wonder how he managed to write a single sentence.     

Z: The Beginning of Everything is the rare story that shows the dark side of star-crossed young love.  It doesn't dress it up in romantic ribbons, insisting that the rougher the road, the more profound the connection.  Instead, it suggests that Zelda would've been happier if she'd married John Sellers back home in Montgomery, or maybe even no one at all.  Although the series ends when the Fitzgeralds' marriage is still in its infancy, its haunting final episode sets the stage for the heartbreak -- and breakdown -- that we know to be Zelda's destiny.  To say that it's sad is an understatement.    

We'll never know how much of Z: The Beginning of Everything is fact and how much is fiction.  But either way, one question remains: 

Why do so many men in American history turn out to be such assholes?

Maybe someone should write a book about that.

Shady Ladies: Slumber Party With Sophia and Dorothy

Tonight we say hey to Florida's finest.  And no, I don't mean Miami Vice.  I mean Dorothy and Sophia! (Although I wouldn't want to meet Dorothy in a dark alley.)  These golden girls boast one of TV's most beloved and complicated mother-daughter relationships.  Sophia's ornery antics and Dorothy's no-nonsense demeanor highlight all the tension and laughs that would inevitably erupt between a mama bear and her grown-up cub spending their golden years under one roof.  (And yes, if your ears are tingling, then it's because "Mama Bear" is Dorothy's odious ex Stan's pet name for her.)  Sophia skewers Dorothy for her nonexistent love life, and Dorothy regularly threatens to send Sophia back to nursing home from hell Shady Pines.  Yet despite all their issues, these two share a quick wit, a disdain for Stan (except for those occasions when Dorothy falls off the anti-Stan wagon), and a bond that can never be broken.  

So, I was as happy as a Miami Dolphin (I know nothing of sports, but dolphins are cheerful, yes?) when my sister presented me with this pair of Dorothy and Sophia-themed pajamas for no other reason than that she found them on clearance at Macy's.  I especially love how Dorothy is characteristically angry, her disapproving mug presiding over her ominous catchphrase, a.k.a. the only thing that could shut Sophia up: "Shady Pines, Ma, Shady Pines."  

The pjs are as comfy cozy as The Golden Girls itself, and I expect them to go through as many wash cycles as my TV goes through reruns.

So, Dorothy and Sophia.  Sophia and Dorothy.  So shady.  Such ladies.  

May they and all of their fans have sweet dreams -- and even sweeter cheesecake.

Summer Rain Gain: Here Comes the Sundress

Bag: Ella & Elly, Amazon

Rainbow bracelets: So, Kohl's; Ring: Express; Giraffe bracelet: Target

Dress: Mudd, Kohl's

Sandals: So, Kohl's

Tank: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney

Sunglasses: Target; Green necklace: Target; Ring: Mixit, JCPenney; Rainbow bangle: B Fabulous; Pink bangle: Mixit, JCPenney

Dress: Lily Rose, Kohl's

Bag: Gifted from parts unknown

Sandals: Bongo, Sears

Bag: H&M; Sunglasses: Brigantine beach shop; Chunky necklace: Gifted from parts unknown; Jelly bangles: Target; Polka dot bangle: Mixit, JCPenney; Pink bangle: Silver Linings, Ocean City; Pink stretch bracelet: Amrita Singh, Zulily; Ring: Francesca's  

Dress: Monteau, Marshalls

We all know that clothes make me happy.  And when it's summer, my favorite thing to wear is a sundress!  Simple yet stylish, this girlish garment takes me from garden party to seafood swap meet.  Not really, though, because these days I'm usually home.  Also, I would never go to a seafood swap meet (if there even is such a thing).  Although I once went to a farmer's market with a tent full of raw scallops sweating in the June sun.  Nothing like a side of ptomaine to spice up your scampi!  But enough about suspect seafood and nightmare-slash-magazine-spread-style outings.  This post is about my love for the sundress and how it can cure what ails you, no matter how horrific.  Behold my attempt to say so in verse:    

Ran into your ex

After bouncing ten checks.

Here comes the sundress.

Broke your new heel

After botching a deal.

Here comes the sundress.

Got stung by a bee

After losing your key.

Here comes the sundress.

Got fired by a jerk

Then saw your mom twerk.

Here comes the sundress.

Ate chocolate goop 

That turned out to be poop.

Here comes the sundress.

Blew out a tire

Then started a fire.

Here comes the sundress.

The world tumbles down

And knocks off your crown.

Here is the sundress.

As they say, into each life -- and wardrobe! -- a little rain must fall.  But if the rain is the curveball, then the sundress is the parachute.  You know, like that game in gym class where the gym teacher tosses the multicolored balls inside the big red-and-white-striped parachute and you have to shake the parachute so that the balls bounce around like popcorn.  

Hmm.  Maybe that was one metaphor too many.  Still, the sundress is like that parachute, colorful and uplifting, a beacon of hope when you're hurtling through a sky full of vultures.  

Rainstorms -- and firings and fires -- don't stand a chance.

Nor does ptomaine.