Charmer in the Dell: The Cheese Stands Alone (But Not Always)

I never wanted to try fried cheese curds until I read Amy E. Reichert's novel The Kindred Spirits Supper Club.  I was so intrigued by them that this post's working title was Word to the Curd: Make Whey for More Cheese.  Indeed, The Kindred Spirits Supper Club is set in the Wisconsin Dells and as such celebrates all the decadent eats that America's Dairyland has to offer.  But this culinary rom com isn't all cheddar and spiked ice cream.  It's also about something deeper. 

Home for the first time in a long time, journalist Sabrina Monroe is struggling.  Unemployed and in debt, she's forced to move in with her parents and take a job with her high school bully.  Anyone would find this situation trying, but for Sabrina, it's an emotional minefield.  That's because she suffers from social anxiety.  Talking to people is so fraught with stress that she goes out of her way to avoid it.  Her only friend is Molly, a glamorous ghost who used to work in a candy-shop-slash-speakeasy.  

"Um, what?," you may be thinking.  "This chick can't make small talk in a grocery store but clicks with someone last alive when Pink Squirrels were illegal?"  Yep.  But Molly is an innocuous spirit, like the ones on that delightful CBS sitcom Ghosts.  In fact, she's much nicer and more accepting than the people on Earth, and that's more than enough for Sabrina.  That's precisely why she evades the attentions of handsome supper club owner Ray Jasper (and no, that's not just me being cute; apparently, supper clubs are a thing).  When Sabrina and Ray meet in the crossfire of a waterpark food fight, Ray is instantly smitten.  Sabrina feels it too but can't risk getting close to Ray.  Even if he is patient and kind and makes the best fried cheese curds in the greater Great Lakes area.

To me, the most interesting thing about this story isn't the romance or even the ghosts.  It's how Sabrina handles her unique challenges.  So many books are about women trying to balance work and family, or about singles surrounded by girl squads, hitting up parties and juggling suitors.  It was refreshing to read about someone so different, far removed from both of those worlds.  And so it's in that, ahem, spirit, that I share this admittedly spoiler-esque quote: 

"She no longer tracked how long it had been since she'd last spoken to someone, not because she'd found a hidden extrovert inside herself but because it no longer mattered.  She was who she was, and the right people loved her for it." (329)   

I couldn't have said it better myself.  So instead I'll say it with cheese:

Fabulous Felt Cheese Please Barrette

I made this Fabulous Felt Cheese Please Barrette many years ago.  

But as every dell dweller -- and introvert -- knows, cheese only gets better with age.

Also, patience and pasteurization.  

Party of One, Party of Fun: One Isn't the Loneliest Number

"You need to get out more."

We've all heard it, whether in fiction or in IRL.  Sometimes it's tossed off in an all-in-good-fun spirit ("What, you've never been to the Cheesecake Factory?!  You need to get out more!").  Other times it's snarkier ("How do you not know who Jim Parsons is?  You need to get out more."  Insert eyeroll;  bonus points if it's lazy.).  But there's no mistaking that it's never a term of endearment.  That's because the speaker (we'll call him "the extrovert") deems himself worldlier and worthier than the speakee (that would be "the introvert") and therefore justified in dispensing his glib, disingenuously cruel-to-be-kind advice.  But I've always been of the opinion that it's not getting out more that grows a more knowledgeable, interesting, and ultimately more empathetic human.  It's staying in.     

So you can imagine my delight upon finding Hallie Heald's 41 Reasons I'm Staying In: A Celebration of Introverts.  If ever there was a book that countered the aforementioned life-of-the-party propaganda -- or, indeed, that was designed for the new normal shelter-in-place lifestyle of the COVID pandemic -- then it's this one.  Dedicated to "all the introverts I've met and may never meet," Heald's strange and fanciful picture book challenges the inherent shame of the home-alone-on-a-Saturday-night stereotype, elevating solitude to an art form.  Her forty-one for-one activities range from the hilariously selfless "midwifing for my gerbil" to the self-indulgently creative "designing my Halloween costume" to the downright dark "making voodoo dolls of my exes."  Each pursuit illustrates (both literally and figuratively; the pictures are a hoot) that it doesn't matter what you do in hermit mode as long as it makes you feel like you, a commodity that's all too elusive when in a crowded club or conference room. All of us feel like this some of the time, and some of us feel like this all of the time.  And I for one am a homebody who firmly falls into camp number two.  

And that's why it's so great that 41 Reasons I'm Staying In applauds those of us who prefer our own company.  Because sometimes being alone isn't about being on the outside looking in.  Sometimes it's about being on the inside looking out.  Not in envy, but in the kind of comfort that can only come from being where you know you belong.

You know.  In your favorite chair knitting a tracksuit, singing to a sourdough starter, or curating a cicada circus while The Big Bang Theory hums in the background.  

Game, set, and match, lazy eye.

Office Flowers are Always Open

T-Shirt & Jeans, Amazon

LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Betsey Johnson, Macy's

This post is about flowers and fruits and veggies and purses (see above carrot barrettes and veggie sweater.  For the record, fashion is the only way I let peas infiltrate my life).  It's also about my home office (a.k.a. the cactus room) where I write these posts, online shop, and pay bills with stamps like an old lady.  But you already knew that, right down to the stamps. 

Flowers make great metaphors.  Especially roses.  As in, "I Never Promised You a Rose Garden" and "Every Rose Has its Thorn".  Even this week's episode of "The Unicorn" (a sitcom about a widower named Wade [Walton Goggins] that I once watched ironically but now genuinely like) had a game called rose and thorn in it.  In an effort to help Wade's seventh-grader daughter Grace open up, his friends Delia (Michaela Watkins) and Michelle (Maya Lynne Robinson) suggest this exercise in which each person shares one good thing that happened that week -- that's the rose -- and one bad thing -- yes, that's the thorn.  And although it didn't ultimately work out -- Delia and Michelle had to reminisce about their own middle school misadventures before Grace finally spilled about her boy troubles -- I found the idea appealing.  So here are some of my roses and thorns from this week.


Roses:

I sold two brooches, one to someone in Arkansas and one to someone in Pennsylvania.

I got a box of free stuff from Kohl's.  No, they haven't decided to reward me for all the blogging I do about their products.  The loot was gratis because I had a "big fat check" from Rakuten and opted to upgrade it to a Kohl's gift card.  Which means it technically wasn't free because I had to spend a lot to get the cashback.  But it made me happy.  So, rose it is.

Thorns:

"This is Us" wasn't on.

My left thumbnail tore below the quick.  Ouch!


Playing rose and thorn is a good way to get stuff off your chest.  Or, even if you play it alone, a way to remain grateful.  For me, it comes in handy when life hands me something more seemingly insurmountable than a week without Jack Pearson's wisdom.  It reminds me to stay positive.  And open to the good stuff.

Like roses.  And '80s hair bands.  

Diamonds are a Girl's Best Spend . . .

 Rainbow Not Quite Rhombus Necklace

Dress: Speechless, Kohl's
Shoes: Ami Clubwear
Bag: Betsey Johnson, Amazon
Belt: Marshalls
Blue and green bracelets: Cloud Nine
Yellow, rainbow, and pink bracelets: So, Kohl's

. . . as long as they're cubic zirconium or, better yet, plastic or shell and merely diamond-shaped, like the one in this here Rainbow Not Quite Rhombus Necklace.  I've recently gotten back into rainbow gumball necklace-making mode, and Rhombus is the simplest of the bunch.  It's kind of short too, which is why I'm not listing it.  Instead I'm looking forward to wearing it with lots of black tops and dresses.  And, of course, to a making many more rainbows. 

On the topic of things that are random, here's a quote from Anna Faris' book Unqualified:

"People who follow their creative passions are fascinating but also complicated, and they all have a tricky combination of narcissism and insecurity." (26)

Although Anna is referring to musicians, specifically musicians she dated, this piques my interest in terms of all artsy types.  Because it's true.  Putting one's stuff out there requires a confidence bordering on cockiness, an awareness that one's stuff is good enough to compete with other stuff on the world's stage.  The insecurity, I think, comes from realizing that not everyone is going to agree with you.  And that's very humbling.  To put your great stuff out there only to have its greatness questioned, mocked, and pelted with banana peels (or, rather, tomatoes.  Banana peels are for hilarious slipping.  Which works here too, if you like metaphors.) is enough to make even the vainest, most resplendent peacock run back to its nest.

By the way, I'm a fan of celebrity autobiographies because I like learning about stars and their childhoods and how they're secretly shy and eat ice cream and hate red carpets and watch bad TV and are just like us!  Even if I sometimes suspect it's not true.  But Unqualified strikes me as genuine.  I've seen Anna Faris on a bunch of talk shows, and she always seems so serious and sad, not at all like her bubbly TV and movie personas.  Of course, this could be due to her split from Chris Pratt.  But she still seems pensive and sensitive.  And that comes through in her book.

Anyway, Anna's comment on creativity reminds me of this more benevolent yet equally intriguing one from John O'Hurley, who is the spokesperson for Philly radio station BEN FM:

"Creativity is intelligence having fun."

I love that.  Because it's so much better when someone smart says, "Let's spray paint "Cowabunga Forever" on that billboard and then write a play about it," instead of "Let's write an equation, then balance our checkbooks."

Then again, O'Hurley, who spouts many a quirky and J. Peterman-like one-liner for the radio waves, also says this:

"The fun isn't in having nothing to do.  It's in having lots to do and not doing any of it."

Anyone who has whiled away a weekend watching Seinfeld reruns amid piles of dirty laundry and dishes no doubt likes the cut of this jib.  Even if it's about laziness instead of creativity.  Unless laziness is a kind of creativity.  In which case, way to go, Peterman.

So, when it comes to spending money and time, fake and playful is better than real and real boring.  Which is not a clever sales tactic to influence you to buy this not-for-sale necklace.

It's just a reminder that diamonds come from blood and are no one's friend.

That was a dark note to end on.  Anyone who thinks it might cause them PTSD should focus on the part about the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles instead.

And also that time when Peterman said, "It'll always be Burma to me."

Victor/Victoriana

Big Cream Bow Barrette

Top: Marshalls

Skirt: Lily Star, Kohl's

Shoes: Payless

Bag: Candie's, Kohl's

Jacket: Candie's, Kohl's

Sunglasses: Relic, Kohl's

Shady Lady Necklace 

Creepy Castle Necklace

Dress: Macy's
Shoes: Christian Siriano for Payless
Bag: Xhilaration, Target
Belt: Apt. 9, Kohl's
Sunglasses: So, Kohl's

 Big Black Bow Barrette

Top: City Streets, JCPenney

Skirt: Decree, JCPenney

Shoes: Payless

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Belt: JCPenney

Jacket: Candie's, Kohl's

Sunglasses: Relic, Kohl's

This time the Victor in question isn't a Broadway cross-dresser but a well-preserved soap star (which, come to think of it, isn't all that different).  Eric Braedan's Victor Newman has reigned on CBS's "The Young and the Restless" since 1980 -- solidly putting him in the camp of the restless.  It's odd for me to mention him because I haven't watched the soap since I dealt in hall passes, but to this day I can't hear the name Victor without thinking of Genoa City's leading man.  Seasoned but still attractive, Slick Vic is as classic as a floral fan or lace parasol (and you thought that the soap opera part was what was girly).  Like the Victorians, the daytime Emmy-winning actor has a few skeletons in his (albeit fictional) closet.  He got his start playing Nazis and cowboys, his rugged good looks no doubt helping to sell the ruthlessness required by such roles (unless he played rodeo clowns).  Unlike the Victorians, Braedan hails from Germany instead of Great Britain. This was news to me; I always assumed that he was British on account of his proper, high-tea-sounding voice.  Which helps explain why I shoehorned him into a post about 1800s England.

I've always loved the era of bows and ballgowns.  So much so that when taking British lit in college (Tennyson, Dickens, and Bronte, oh my!), I wrote a research paper on Victorian fashion.  So of course I'd end up channeling this ladylike aesthetic into the accessories and outfits of at least one post.  I loved embellishing these bargain bow barrettes (J. C. Penney's) and stringing up this necklace with vintage cabochons and fan charms (Etsy's MK Supplies), then pairing them with sweet but salty somethings, like this mesh-backed scroll-print dress and lace-edged pleather mini.  Perfect for a lady's lunch, bridal shower -- or an ingenue's entrance on an episode of your favorite afternoon saga -- they bring the bold (but not the beautiful; I'll poke fun at that soap some other time) and punch up the pretty.

Now, that's what I call daytime drama.    

Musical Musings With a Side of Brain Candy

 Candy Land Necklace

Top: Delia's
Skirt: Target
Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's
Bag: Fred Flare
Belt: Wet Seal
Sunglasses: Rampage, Boscov's

*If this Candy Land Necklace looks familiar, then that's because it's a remix of the original.  Normally, I hate remixes.  The electronic effects, garbled lyrics, and ever-present bass all contrive to make awesome songs sound like garbage.  But when it comes to jewelry, I'm always willing to (and you must forgive me for this) "mix it up."

 Pop Princess Necklace

Camisole: Marshalls
Cardigan: So, Kohl's
Jeans: L'Amour by Nanette Lepore for JCPenney
Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney
Bag: Worthington, JCPenney

Sucker for Sweets Necklace

Dress: Kohl's

Shoes: Nine West, DSW

Bag: Marshalls

Scarf: A.C. Moore

Sunglasses: Rampage, Boscov's

I made the Pop Princess Necklace featured in this post by cutting the Katy Perry image from the jacket of her One of the Boys CD.  In honor of it, here are some thoughts on music:

1)  It's weird that you (usually) need to hear a new song a few times before you start to like it.  This doesn't say much about humans, except for maybe that we like being brainwashed.  

2)  Splurging on CDs is better than springing for (fancy - for this is one of those cases in which a qualifying adjective is a must) soaps because the CDs will still be around long after the tunes have tumbled off the Top 40 list, whereas the soap, fetching bottle and all, will be only a memory once the bubbles have popped.

3)  Buying a CD of a favorite song is a little bit like moving in with someone (I say this, of course, for comedic effect, and not from personal experience).  You think it'll be great.  As in, "I can hear the song (see my beloved) whenever I want!  I don't have to wait for it to come on the radio (him/her to swing by on date night)!"  Then you play it on repeat (see him/her every day in his/her ratty bathrobe) and get sick of it, longing for the lost magic of the random rendezvous.  As CD buying tells us, mastering music appreciation (not to mention romantic bliss) is a delicate balance.  

4)  One day CDs will fall by the wayside and people will reminisce about when they used to buy those quaint silver discs packaged in cases decorated with wacky artwork.  Perhaps "The Crazy Ones" put it best a couple of episodes ago in this exchange between Sydney and her new cater waiter flame: 

Cater Waiter: "I lied.  I like Starbucks.  I buy all my CDs there."  

Sydney: "I love that you still buy CDs."

(Confession: I too loved this about the cater waiter and was saddened by his eventual (albeit inevitable) exit.)

5)  Supergroups are like super necklaces - lots of big personalities competing for attention in a very small space - and as such should be enjoyed with caution.  

I'm already contemplating another CD cover art-come-necklace to include in next week's post.  So, as they say, turn up the tunes.  (As ever, I have no idea who "they" are.  But it was as good a way to end a post as any.)

TV Tuesday: Going in With a Bang

My mind is a runaway train of ideas that I (for some reason) feel compelled to chronicle.  And today I got the idea to start a TV Tuesdays column.  Each Tuesday, I'll blog about a TV show.  It may be a general series description, a recap of a new episode, a nostalgic look at a beloved rerun, or even just a tenuously TV-related topic.  I'm keeping the field wide open so as not to stump myself too early on. 

That having been said, let's get started. 

I didn't watch "The Big Bang Theory" when it premiered on CBS five years ago.  I think I thought that it was one of those banal sitcoms that spun on the strength of pitting creepazoids against beautiful women.  (Even now I watch it On Demand instead of in real time.  At 8:00 p.m. on Thursday nights my heart belongs to "Community.")  But when the reruns first aired on TBS this past fall I realized that I'd been too quick to judge, proving once again just how much TBS has enriched my life.  I found offbeat scientists Sheldon, Leonard, Howard, and Raj to be oddly endearing, right down to their social ineptitude, unfashionably colorful clothing, and blend of bathroom and brainy humor.  At the nucleus of the hilarity, of course, is Dr. Sheldon Cooper (Jim Parsons).  I have a kind of love-hate relationship with him.  His overbearing control-freak ways are anathema to my live and let live sensibilities, but he's just so funny and idiosyncratic (those Emmys don't lie) that I can't help but be charmed by him.  In my estimation, his stock only rose when his equally brilliant and eccentric girlfriend Amy Farrah Fowler (Mayim Bialik) entered his orbit.  

Being in the arts and crafts business, I got a kick out of the episode where Penny (Kaley Cuoco) starts making flower barrettes called Penny Blossoms to sell online.  Her excitement at landing a huge order quickly dissolves when she realizes that she mistakenly promised next-day shipping.  The guys soon exchange their equations for rhinestones, diving into an all-night craft-a-thon.  Surprisingly, it's the acerbic Sheldon, Penny's toughest critic, who encourages her to embrace entrepreneurship when things seem bleakest.  In the end, another comedic calamity explodes, putting the kibosh on the blossoms and sealing Penny's fate as a Cheesecake Factory waitress.  A fitting microcosm of the creative life if ever there was one.             

As for the current season, I'm still an episode behind.  Which means that Stephen Hawking will be joining my next pizza night.

Something New and Sparkly: A Cupcake and a Word on Collectors

Fabulous Felt Cupcake Headband

Dress: Kohl's

Jacket: Material Girl, Macy's

Shoes: Madden Girl, DSW

Bag: Harajuku Lovers, ROSS Dress for Less

I like to think that this outfit encapsulates all that is fierce and feminine about the cupcake.  (To those who quibble, "Fierce, huh?" I recommend CBS's cupcake-themed, anything-but-sweet "Two Broke Girls.")  The poufy pink skirt sort of looks like a pastry, meshing with this purple Fabulous Felt Cupcake Headband in a way that would make Barbie proud. 

In the spirit of creating and collecting and buying fashion items, I got it into my head that I wanted to address reality TV's love affair with people who like to accumulate things (a tenuous connection if ever there was one, but I'll go along with it if you will).  The bf was watching the History Channel's "American Pickers" the other night when he said, "This is like "Hoarders," except for with men in garages," to which I (good-naturedly) replied, "Yeah, except those guys get a pat on the back and a wad of cash while the women get reprimanded and tossed into therapy."  It's true.  I recently caught a few minutes of a "Hoarders" episode in which some poor Tupperware-happy woman was being forced to part with her considerable spatula collection.  Now, I didn't watch the rest of the show and so cannot attest to this woman's overall living situation or mental stability, but I couldn't help but be unnerved.  Because really, what harm can a few spatulas do?  Certainly no more than a heap of hubcaps rotting in some dude's backyard.  'Nuff said. 

Heart and Humor Meet in (ABC's) The Middle

Last fall, when the new sitcom The Middle was introduced to ABC's Wednesday night line-up, I didn't like it at all. The show centered around the Hecks, a middle-class, middle American family planted firmly and unpretentiously in Indiana. You had Mike, the straight-talking quarry manager dad (Scrubs's Neil Flynn); Frankie, a frazzled used car saleswoman-slash-supermom (Patricia Heaton, Everybody Loves Raymond); Axl, their popular football playing teenage son; Sue, their awkward preteen daughter who gets cut from every team she tries out for; and Brick, their brilliant but socially hopeless second grader. Weekly plots focused on all the icky little details of work and home life: paying bills on time, shopping for suspect meat at the discount grocery store, getting the kids to do their homework, squeezing in family dinners, shopping for anniversary present carpet remnants, trying not to be late for work, etc. To be honest, it depressed me. So I stopped watching, clicking over to the vapid but more cheerful (and now cancelled) Gary Unmarried on CBS until it was time for the upper middle-class glamor of Modern Family to dazzle me as far away from reality as was possible.

Things went on like this until mid-season last year when I decided to give The Middle another chance. And you know what? I started to feel ashamed of my prematurely snobby dismissal. I started to, well, like it. Because behind all the tedium, the Hecks had something that most sitcom families didn't: heart. Their struggles became more funny than bleak, probably because they rang true. I especially liked Brick, endeared by his kooky, too-cerebral-for-his-own-good differentness and the way he repeated the things he said out loud in whispers. Before long, The Middle had eclipsed Modern Family for the top spot in my Wednesday night TV-viewing affections.

I still watch and enjoy Modern Family. But sometimes its big, perfect houses seem kind of cold compared to the Hecks's lived-in rancher with the unfinished basement and lime green living room. Similarly, "Modern Family's" three couples seem to be strained by tensions that remain unresolved even after plots are sewn up. Although Mike and Frankie Heck squabble over the usual who's-going-to-drive-the-kids-to-practice sort of issues, they never seem to resent each other as lingeringly as Phil and Claire Dunphy. Interestingly, Claire (Julie Bowen) sometimes reminds me of the high-strung stay-at-home mom that Heaton used to play on Raymond. Although considerably poorer and more heavily burdened, Heaton's character on The Middle appears happier and more grounded. Of course, that could just be because her mother-in-law isn't lurking across the street . . .