Dying of Dysentery and Laughter: Finally Found My Rodeo Clown

Exactly one week ago (because I'm nothing if not consistent when it comes to being untimely), the husband and I went to the farm stand and the secondhand store, in that order.  But I had to post the pic of the clown first!  Because circus folk always get top billing.  Also (as many of you know), I'm drawn to clowns.  This one is from the 1970s and cost $795!  So yeah, I was good with just the picture.  

This was also the first day I wore my new Wrangler tee, which I ordered from (where else?) Kohl's for just $5.  I was geekily excited about it.  It made me think of the Old West, which made me think about a book about The Oregon Trail I read years ago.  (I may also have recently seen something Trail-related in my Instagram feed.)  If you were around in the '80s and '90s, then you know all about this popular -- and morbid! -- 8-bit computer game.  If not, then here's the premise: In the mid-1800s, your family sets out from Independence, Missouri in hopes of making it to Oregon.  I say "hopes" because more often than not, each person is killed off by cholera, typhoid, or some other deadly disease before glimpsing the Emerald City that is the Willamette Valley.  My family played The Oregon Trail a lot, and we were always so sad when one of us died and had our name typed across a tombstone.  It made me super grateful that I was born when I was and not fording some river only to then tumble in and die of dysentery.  

Speaking of which, the book (because yep, that's what we were talking about!) is called And Then You Die of Dysentery: Lessons in Adulting from The Oregon Trail, by Lauren Reeves.  I use the word "book" loosely, because this is a "gift book" as opposed to a tome on the history of the game.  I say this only so you don't think I'm trying to pass myself off as the kind of person who reads super serious books and wants you to know it.  Not because it's not brilliant.  Because it is.  Hats (bonnets?) off to you, Lauren Reeves. 

On that note, Reeves has a lot to snarkily say about the not-so-old-timey, tough love lessons imparted by the Trail.  But my favorite part comes from the intro:

"I must've logged ten thousand hours on this thing, making me one of the world's leading Oregon Trail experts.  I didn't just play the Oregon Trail, no . . . I studied it.  And now I want to share some of the important lessons I learned and applied to my everyday life.  Like how watching the pioneers migrate from Missouri to Oregon for a better life motivated me to move from Alaska to New York City.   . . . Hell, it even taught me that dying builds character, especially when you do it over and over and in so many different ways.  And I bet it taught you something, too.

If this book teaches you just one thing, it's that the Oregon Trail didn't just show you how to die.  It also taught you how to live.  And I hope that inspires you to upgrade your life from a lowly Greenhorn to an Adventurer.  Swipe this page left to continue along the trail." 

Sigh.  I'm a sucker for sentimentality, especially when it masquerades as satire.  Which makes me eager to crush my own outdoorsy challenge:

Keep these flowers alive.

A Heaping, Heartland Helping of Miracle Grip

I'd never read anything by Elizabeth Berg.  But there was something about the hard copy of Night of Miracles, priced to sell at $7.97, that gripped me.  Still, it sat on my bookshelf for six months, horizontally with the other still-to-be-read titles, as is often the case with authors I don't know, stranger danger being what it is.  But last week I thought, okay, no new books until you read this.  So I did.

Night of Miracles, as it turns out, is a novel about the ordinary and extraordinary people who live in Mason, Missouri.  There's Lucille, the nearly ninety retired schoolteacher who now teaches the town to bake.  And Tiny, the enormous and kind cab driver in love with Monica, the waitress who serves him his double orders of pigs in a blanket.  And Iris, the Boston transplant trying to mend her broken heart.  And Abby, Jason, and Lincoln, the little family that moves next door to Lucille.  It's a beautiful book and reminds me of Fannie Flagg, full of small-town Missouri magic.  In fact, on the back cover Flagg herself says that "Elizabeth Berg's characters jump right off the page and into your heart."  Even this book's ode to unhealthy eating is charming, as if cakes can ward off cancer more effectively than veganism.  That's not just me being cute, but something that kind of sort of happened.  It's a real testament to the power of tasty food, no matter how artery clogging, when it's made with love.  It's like Berg is telling us to let go of the rules and enjoy life while we're living it.  Which is poignant in the way that all salt-of-the-earth, clean kind of sad stories are.

When it ended, I added the rest of Berg's books to my reading list.  Because a writer who can whip up such a miracle of a read must have a casserole of a canon.

And I very much heart casseroles.

Spring Fling: No Small Feat

Skirt: Amazon; Bag: Francesca's 

Hearts and Cherries Necklace

Top: So, Kohl's

Bag: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's; Skirt: Forever 21

Top: New York & Company

Shoes: Jessica Simpson Collection, DSW

Candy Gram Slam Necklace

Top: So, Kohl's

Shoes: Zulily; Socks: Amazon

Jacket: Candie's, Kohl's

Bag: Dolls Kill

Spring is the best.  There are few things more uplifting than seeing the first daffodil after the snow or the first day you realize that you can wear short sleeves and sandals.  They're magical, those firsts, because they mean that the world's waking up.  But the thing about that is that sometimes waking up's hard to do.

Every spring, I drag my feet about giving myself a pedicure.  I put it off as long as I can, covering my unsightly toes in flats or cowboy boots on those rare days when I venture out to run errands.  Maybe you're thinking, come on, your feet can't be that bad.  But they are.  I've been wearing heels for more than twenty-five years, and all that abuse takes a toll.  That said, the thing that puts a stop to my procrastination is my annual dermatologist visit.  If I don't want to look at my untamed tootsies, then I certainly don't want my doc looking at them, because really, isn't her job hard enough?  So soon it'll be pumice and polish time, my cuticles camouflaged by a thick coat of crimson, a.k.a. Cherries in the Snow.  And once I'm done, I'll think not too bad, and wonder what all the fuss was about.

So thanks, Revlon, for taking the bummer -- if not the bunions -- out of summer.

From Nostalgia to Now: Election Connection

When Election came out in 1999, I wanted to see it.  A twisty tale about the evils of high school politics starring Reese Witherspoon?  Yes, please.  After all, I was a high school senior myself and could relate.  Not because I ever ran for office or wanted to, but because the social maze of schooldays were a struggle.  Then again, maybe that's why I ended up not seeing it.

Fast forward to 2020 and the pandemic, which meant that I was catching up on old movies.  One night I was scrolling through my options when Election came up.  Twenty-two years later, and it was finally time.  It was so good!  Witherspoon made the perfect Tracy Flick, an overbearing overachiever intent on becoming student government president no matter what.  And Chris Klein was her ideal foil as Paul, the affable, big-man-on-campus puppet primed to defeat her.  I enjoyed it so much that I ordered the book, by Tom Perrotta, whom I'd heard of but never read.  Not surprisingly, it was even better than the movie, a rich character study of suburbia told baldly from multiple points of view.  So last fall when I heard that there was a sequel to Election called Tracy Flick Can't Win, I was pumped.       

In this installment, Perrotta introduces us to a forty-something version of the high school anti-hero (cue the Taylor Swift).  Tracy's not a senator or even a lawyer like she planned, but a single mom and assistant principal.  For all her scheming and dreaming, she's right back where she started, a big fish in a small pond campaigning to be, not president, but principal.  Still, Perrotta gives us a more vulnerable and nuanced look at her, especially as she comes to terms with sleeping with her English teacher.  Indeed, the novel is full of wronged women, their stories woven like faded rainbows in Perrotta's crazy quilt of suburban satire.  His skill in describing women is impressive, especially when writing about them dealing with -- and falling for -- men who are their superiors.  As they blame themselves for what happened to them, it's all too clear how the patriarchy sets up women to fail.  Yet Perrotta reminds us that, in many ways, it sets up men to fail too.  No character is all good or bad, and that's what makes Perrotta's storytelling so realistic.  Regardless of the obstacles these troubled souls face, they do the best with what they've got.      

And that's always worth voting for.

Easter Dresses and Tresses: Not a Hare Out of Place

Wreath: Michaels

Dress: ELLE, Kohl's; Hat: Amazon

Bunny: A gift from the husband the Easter after we met

Dress: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's; Bag: Betsey Johnson, Amazon

Card: Target

Dress: Rewind, Kohl's; Hat: Amazon

This title is a lie.  There are many hares -- and hairs -- out of place in this post, starting with my messy mop peering through that tulip wreath.  But then, imperfection counts as its own kind of theme.  Speaking of which, you know how Minnie Pearl wore her hats with the tags on?  Well, I kept the tags on, not my hats, but my bunnies.  Because they're not my bunnies after all, but Easter gifts for my nieces.  

So, it's not a shoot worthy of Vogue or Good Housekeeping.  But that's okay, because, as you know, we're all a little mad here at The Tote Trove.

And I wouldn't hat have it any other way.

Giving Pants and France a Chance

Top and jeans: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Bag: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Enchanted Eiffel Necklace

Bow: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Socks: Amazon; Shoes: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Top: New York & Company; Pants: Vylette, Kohl's

Shoes: Mix No. 6, DSW

Headband: INC, Macy's

Elephant Anchor Necklace

Sweater: Maison Jules, Amazon; Bag: Skinnydip London, Macy's

Shoes: Betsey Johnson, DSW

Everything But The Kitchen Pink Necklace

It's true.  I'm taking on trousers and the land of croissants.  My pink pants are even from the French-sounding brand Vylette -- although that label has gone the way of the guillotine.  No matter.  I went the extra mile for Francophile style with my Enchanted Eiffel Necklace (because what's the City of Lights sans unicorn?) and my micro review of Jenn McKinlay's Paris is Always a Good Idea. 

Oddly, this romcom can best be described by The Big Bang Theory (Season 5, Episode 9).  Leonard and Penny are on a platonic movie date when Leonard suggests that they see a documentary about building a dam on a river in South America because he's tired of Penny picking romcoms that are "an hour and a half of beach houses in the rain until the woman turns around and realizes that love was here all along."  Penny retorts that that's a great movie and it's starting in ten minutes.  The classic soulmate search trope that Leonard so callously mocks is Paris is Always a Good Idea in a nutshell -- or, more appropriately, a popcorn kernel.  Here are (some of the, remember this is micro) details:  

After hearing that her widowed dad is getting remarried to a woman who won him in a bachelor auction, super-serious-professional-woman-who-doesn't-have-time-for-fun Chelsea Martin (shoutout to Mindy Kaling's Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?) gallivants across Europe to track down three old flames to reignite her belief in love.  But she can barely choke down a bite of baguette before her office nemesis Jason Knightley pops up and cock blocks her.  Sure, this plot's a little familiar.  But then again, so are the plots of those movies.  And sometimes the familiar is what you need.

I can't say the same for documentaries.  Unless they're about croissants or baguettes or why we love romcoms so much.

Brunson Burner

Quinta Brunson's mom wanted her to be a teacher.  But Quinta wanted to be an entertainer.  So it's only fitting that Quinta ended up entertaining us about education.  I'm, of course, talking about the Emmy-winning smash hit Abbott Elementary, which Quinta created and stars in.  And although Quinta's memoir She Memes Well came out before the show, there are plenty of Abbott Easter eggs hidden within its pages.  Which may not make sense chronologically.  But I'm willing to say that it's a chicken and (Easter) egg thing if you are, so here it goes.

Now that I've read the book, I can't help but wonder if kindergarten teacher Barbara (Sheryl Lee Ralph), who serves as Janine's (Quinta Brunson's) prim and proper mentor, was modeled after Quinta's mom.  Because it turns out that Mrs. Brunson was a by-the-book kindergarten teacher too.

Quinta's favorite sitcom is The Office, which came as no surprise to me because Abbott has always reminded me of that show.  There's the documentary style, the crazy boss (Janelle James), and the awkward yet sweet Jim-and-Pam-esque romance between Janine and Gregory (Tyler James Williams).  Janine even starts the series with a boyfriend that rivals Roy in the doofus department.  Yet what ties it all together is the wry, relatable humor illustrating all the weirdness that comes with the workplace -- and also the heart.   That said, Abbott Elementary is in no way, shape, or form an offshoot of the Office.  For one thing, no one in it is trying to sell paper.  For another, it's about a bigger-picture issue, namely the struggles of teachers in underserved areas.  And although I'm not a teacher (and thank goodness because I'd be terrible), from everything I've heard, its portrayal of that world is spot on.

That's all well and good, you may be thinking.  But you already said that this book isn't about Abbott Elementary, so what the heck is it about?!  So glad you asked!  It's about Quinta's childhood and family and the culture shock of moving from Philly to LA, a city of women who expect their dogs to be able to operate iPads.  But it's also about how Quinta got to where she is today, and that's by making memes.  Now, this took me by surprise.  And it shouldn't have considering the title of her memoir!  I thought it was just a clever-but-not-literal pun.  But no.  Quinta was obsessed with the Internet as a kid and ended up going viral on Instagram with a meme called "He Got Money!".  It's about a girl who's never been on a real date, so every time a guy buys her popcorn at the movies or orders dessert at a restaurant, her character is so overcome that she enthusiastically cries this catchphrase.  It was so popular that Quinta made appearances at events just so people could hear her say "He Got Money!" in person.  As someone who spends a lot (too much?) time online, I love this.  The idea that a lifetime (if a lifetime can be measured by one's twenties) of blood, sweat, and creative tears could culminate and explode in a platform accessible to everyone is very exciting. 

But that meme was just the beginning.  Through a series of hilarious anecdotes, Quinta takes us on her professional and personal journey of making her comedic dreams come true.  She's decidedly saltier than her salt-of-the-earth Abbott alter-ego Janine, a topic that she gamely riffed about last night when hosting SNL.  Indeed, in Memes she tells us that she was popular, both a cheerleader and a prom queen.  That's about as far from Janine as it gets, which means just one thing: Quinta's one heck of an actress. 

Shine bright, Brunson burner, shine bright.