Cash Crash: Flash in the Pan and Clash in the Clan

"What would you do if you won the lottery?" is a question we've all asked ourselves.  And that's the what-if that Elyssa Friedland explores in her latest novel, Jackpot Summer.  In the wake of mourning their mother, three of the four Jacobson siblings play the Powerball and win.  Loaded lawyer Matthew opted out (his wife, also a lawyer, quipped that the lottery is a tax on stupid people), setting the stage for some serious drama.  Because although stay-at-home-mom Laura, art teacher Sophie, and tech support freelancer Noah struggled before they hit it big, the windfall means that their troubles are only beginning.

With a focus on family and the virtues of middle class life, Jackpot Summer is a light-hearted but pointed reminder to count your blessings as well as your pennies.

High School Rules and Fools: An Education

It's no surprise that I was drawn to Elyssa Friedland's latest novel, The Most Likely Club, a where-are-they-now look at four friends who graduated high school in 1997.  After all, I was in the class of 2000.  And never quite got over not being voted best dressed (or best anything) senior year.  I even wrote an article for the school newspaper about the ridiculousness of senior superlatives, saying what next, props for the student who can stuff the most hoagies in his mouth? (High school me was a bit of a wiseass.)  

Anyway, although The Most Likely Club's Melissa, Priya, Tara, and Suki did receive such recognition (Most Likely to Win the White House, Cure Cancer, Open a Michelin-Starred Restaurant, and Join the Forbs 400, respectively), at forty-three, they're disappointed that none of it has come to fruition.  (Well, one has, but with a hefty price tag.)  Their twenty-fifth reunion, chaired by not-United-States-but-PTA-president Melissa, brings them back into each other's lives.  As they alternately reminisce and lament, they learn things about each other -- and themselves -- that they never knew.  And somewhere between the tears and tequila, they realize what's truly important.  

The Most Likely Club has all the feels.  Nerds in shining armor, girl power (yes, you can have one with the other!), suspense, humor, and a generous helping of '90s pop culture references (Friends!  Fiona Apple!  Chokers!).  It even has a well-placed Easter egg about Friedland's previous book, Last Summer at the Golden Hotel.  But best of all, it shines a light on how high school dreams and pressures sometimes set unrealistic expectations.  I can't imagine any woman not connecting with it on some level.  

Light-hearted and fun yet layered and real, The Most Likely Club would make a great movie (are you listening, Hollywood?).  

But for now it'll have to settle for being da bomb.  Or, you know, most likely to be read in one sitting.  

Navy Lady: Hue Book Value

Skirt: So, Kohl's

Bag: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Top: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

As you know, these days I've been shopping my closet instead of the stores, and so far it's been lots of fun.  Above are the three items from my last Kohl's order, which arrived about a month ago.  If the polka dot top looks familiar, then it's because I have the matching skirt.    

That said, I did get a package today.  It was from Amazon, so it was just essentials like packing tape, soap, and printer ink.  Also, books -- because they're the most essential of all.  I was so excited that I took a pic:    

 

Clearly, I misspoke when I said that I was checking out on chick lit, as here are two gems of the genre. Ironically, they're bookending Pay It Forward, which I wanted to read only after reading about it in Love & Other Words.  

It seems that chicks and their lit, pink covers and all, still have a great deal to teach me.

Moving Mountains: Gold Star Stay the Catskills Way

The first Elyssa Friedland book I ever read was The Floating Feldmans, which was a funny family drama set on a cruise ship.  Last Summer at the Golden Hotel is a lot like it, except the cruise ship is a hotel, and the main characters own it.  The Goldmans and the Weingolds have been the proud proprietors of the Golden Hotel for decades.  Nestled in the once-trendy Catskills, or as the locals call them, the Jewish Alps, the Golden Hotel has feted everyone from Joan Rivers to Jerry Seinfeld in its famed theater.  Families have come for generations to bond over brisket and shuffleboard, their happiest moments frozen in time in the hotel's Memory Lane photo gallery.  But time has not been kind to the Golden, and now it's falling apart.  These days, people want organic meals and Wi-Fi, and they're going elsewhere to get it.  Which forces three generations of Goldmans and Weingolds to ask themselves the dreaded question: should they stick it out or sell?  While trying to find the answer, they learn new things about each other -- and themselves.  

Last Summer at the Golden Hotel is fun and nostalgic, harkening back to the days of Dirty Dancing and The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, both of which it references.  While reading it, I used the sunflower bookmark I bought at Beyond Van Gogh.  It matched the cover so perfectly that I couldn't stop looking at it. 

As they say, it's the little things.           

Missed Connection Objection: From Wi-fi to Wifey

Imagine getting fired for checking your personal email seventy-five times a day.  One minute, you're on the partner track at your law firm, and the next you're chucking your laptop into the East River.  Well, that's what happens to Evie Rosen in Elyssa Friedland's novel Love and Miss Communication.  In addition to being ousted from her office, Evie makes an unpleasant discovery.  She learns that her commitment-phobe ex-boyfriend is married just six months after their breakup, a factoid she stumbles upon while on Facebook.  Evie is so traumatized by the havoc that social networking has wreaked on her professional and personal life that she vows to quit the Internet for a year.  Yet no Internet means no Monster, which makes finding a new job nearly impossible.  Luckily, Evie lands a temp gig as in-house counsel at the private high school where her best friend teaches.  Although grateful to have the work (and to be able to wear open-toed shoes!), Evie is just as uninspired as she was at her law firm, causing her to wonder if she's making the same mistake twice.  What's more, she's bitter about being single, and her friends, all of whom are married and have problems of their own, are beginning to lose patience with her.  But then her beloved grandmother Bette gets breast cancer, and she's forced to count her blessings.  Also, to become acquainted with the handsome surgeon devoted to Bette's care.  Unable to indulge her habit of Googling every man she meets (and no, that's not a euphemism), she has no choice but to get to know him the old fashioned way: by talking.  And she's surprised to find that she likes it.

"It was refreshing to learn something new about him directly -- a fact he chose to share, not something she discovered through covert research.  It was so much more satisfying watching his story unfurl like a blooming onion than to crack him open like a pinata." (231)

Fun, right?  I don't know about you, but I always appreciate a little Outback imagery.

Still, despite her progress, Evie finds that going off the grid has its cons.  Living the Luddite life means that she's out of the loop when it comes to her friends' get-togethers and major moments, threatening her already shaky relationships.  Also, she avoids using the Internet at work, instead getting a student to go online for her, a situation that blows up big time.  Nevertheless, being offline -- not to mention away from the corporate law rat race -- forces her to slow down and examine what she really wants, even if it's not what she expected. 

Love and Miss Communication is a joy to read because Friedland is a clever writer.  If I can get inside a character's head and come out feeling like I know her, then I count that book as worthwhile.  And if the book also has colorful descriptions and/or makes me laugh?  Well, there's not much more I can ask for.  Love and Miss Communication checks all those boxes.

Now, on to the important question.  Do I think it's a good idea to quit the Internet?  And more to the point, could I, like Evie, live sans Internet for a year?  Um, that would be a no.  Like TV, credit cards, carbs, and other polarizing things, the Internet's all in how you use it and is not in and of itself evil.  I, for one, am not about to renounce "The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel," my Discover cashback bonus points, or cinnamon raisin bread for an existence of silent nights eating kale while wearing last year's cold shoulder muumuu.  And that goes double for the World Wide Web.  Sure, I could probably wean myself off of Pinterest.  And Etsy wouldn't be a problem because, due to the quarantine, The Tote Trove is currently closed.  But going without this blog is a nonstarter.  There's something satisfying about publishing my thoughts each week, even if only a handful of people read them.  Even if nobody reads them.  I guess it's like that whole if a tree falls in a forest and there's no one there to hear it, does it still make a sound thing.

I'm saying yes, it makes a sound.  For better or for worse, my sounds are my words.  Even if they fall with the whisper of a sapling instead of the thud of a redwood. 

Now, if only spam would stop being a ham like it's open mike night at The Inbox.  

Ship Shape Escape: Family Feud Unglued

I was on Amazon when I found a book by an author I'd never heard of.  The book was The Floating Feldmans, the author was Elyssa Friedland, and it caught my eye because of its cover.  I liked the way the characters' faces peeked through the ship portals, my favorite being Mr. Man Bun.

So, I added it to my wish list, and my sister got it for me for Christmas.  Last week I finally tested its waters.  Which is a dramatic way to talk about diving into a book, but you never know with new authors.  Or new anything.  It's like that Seinfeld episode where Jerry takes Bania out to dinner (and lunch) in exchange for a suit and mocks Bania's always-annoying commentary.  That is, if you order your go-to meal, then you know it'll be good but the same.  If you order something new, then you get to have something different, but it might not be as good.  To quote Jerry verbatim, "it's a gamble."  And that's just how I felt before embarking on The Floating Feldmans.  Which is fitting, because the novel's about a cruise and cruises are all about food.  Also disease, not to put too fine a point on it in the current coronavirus climate.

Anyway, the Feldmans are complicated.  You've got overbearing mom Annette and distant dad David with two grown children: overachieving daughter Elise and slacker son Freddie (he of the man bun).  Elise has an overachieving daughter, Rachel, and slacker son, Darius, of her own.  She also has a nice-guy husband, Mitch, making for a neat parallel with her bro's trophy girlfriend, Natasha, who, is also -- you guessed it -- nice!  "Wait a minute," you may be thinking, "How can a slacker dude score such a babe?  Are things -- dun dun dun -- not what they seem?!"  To echo the sound of the ship's casino . . . jackpot!  This family has more secrets than a prostitute's diary, and they all come out on the Ocean Queen.  It's all hands on deck for domestic discord, with jaded cruise director Julian at the helm.  Friedland pulls out every cruise ship cliche, from the passengers duking it out over the soft serve machine to the dorky dad sandals to the overpriced offshore excursions.  And it's hilarious!  Really, the perfect fly-on-the-wall situation where you can soak up all of the laughs and none of the calories -- or ptomaine.  Here are some of my favorite parts:

"How Elise craved that soaring spike in adrenaline that shot pins and needles to her extremities and sent butterflies to her stomach.  She sighed and looked back at her cart, fighting off the urge to calculate.  The total couldn't be much.  She had tossed in maybe eight or nine hardcovers at most, three frozen cakes, a few packages of T-shirts for Darius, and a bunch of sports bras she'd need now that she'd signed up for Class Pass." (11).

Yes, Elise's shameful secret is that she's a shopaholic.  Like Rebecca Bloomwood, but not as much fun and without the rich husband (Elise's better half is a journalist; need I say more?).  One of her more unfortunate splurges is family sweatshirts plastered with Annette's (rather angry) face, which she got on -- wait for it -- Etsy.

Still, all roads lead back to that other over-indulgers' paradise, namely the buffet:

"On average, passengers aboard the Ocean Queen consumed six thousand calories per day, sitting down to no less than five full meals.  The midmorning "snack" consisted of pastries, a full salad bar, and a taco station.  Afternoon tea was the least dainty meal Julian had ever laid eyes on.  Instead of finger sandwiches and bite-sized lemon tarts, the kitchen staff put out twelve-foot loaves of streusel from which the guests could hack off as much as they liked.  And, as far as Julian could tell, they liked a lot of streusel." (2)

"A middle-aged woman wearing a sweatshirt that said I Have No Cruise Control shouted, "Where's my free pizza?  I was told there would be free pizza." (134)

This book is zany.  But it's also a little dark and deep and gives you a look inside that cattiest of cliques: family.  Like the meanest of mean girls, the Feldmans manipulate one another and freeze each other out.  But unlike their middle school monster counterparts, they actually care about one another, a truth that surfaces like filet mignon from a sea of expired bologna.  And that's kind of comforting.  Because although families are never easy, they've always got your back.

Even if that back's wearing a day-glo sweatshirt emblazoned with the matriarch's mug.