Showing posts with label Andy Samberg. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Andy Samberg. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 31, 2023

Rag Bag Brag: Go Big or Go Home, Without Leaving Home



Before the pandemic, I'd never made what I've now lovingly come to call my barrette brooches (barrettes so big you can clip them to your blouse, belt, or bag to tell the world that you have an unhealthy fixation with sunsets or cupcakes or swans well before having to utter so much as a "Sorry I gave Fluffy that Snickers".)  No, before masks became as mandatory as underwear, I limited my hair flair creations to a still-large but respectable size.  But I guess spending so much time with my felt gave me ideas, because before I knew it, I was crafting scenescapes and a bunch of other stuff on "canvases" that rivalled a gunslinger's belt buckle.  It was such fun digging through my colorful stash and imagining endlessly weird and wonderful worlds.  (And yes, I realize how that sounds, but despite what that post on Regretsy said, no wacky tobacky was used in the making of these fine products.)  Soon the barrette brooches were piling up, leaves, moons, and tulips fighting for space in my cluttered craft room.  I stored the ones I listed in boxes.  But that left me with just as many that I planned to keep.  So I started hanging them on the kites around one of my windows.  Nearly three years later, almost the entire window frame is covered.  Which means just one thing: it's time to start adorning window number two.

After that, who knows?  Maybe I'll rig up some sort of inverted Maypole contraption from the ceiling.  But one thing's for sure.  No matter how much square footage I squander, I'll "never stop never stopping" making barrette brooches.  

Just like Andy Samberg in Popstar.       

Tuesday, November 2, 2021

Marina Mermaid

Top: XOXO, Macy's; Skirt: Marshalls; Shoes: Chase & Chloe, Zulily; Bag: Zulily; Light pink bangle: Say What, Zulily; Striped bangle: Mixit, JCPenney; Chartreuse bracelet: Amrita Singh, Zulily

November or not, today I noticed some renegade rhododendrons blooming way past their May sell-by date:    

Moreover, last night I made this very summery Marina Mermaid Necklace:


And that got me thinking.  About Memorial Day and sunny beach days and if Marina Mermaid is speaking through me.  Let's say that she is and that this is her story:

Marina Mermaid was named after a character on her mother's favorite soap opera.  Not that Mom was fond of that first, if fictional, Marina.  No, quite the contrary.  Marina could still hear her mother calling the girl a shameless hussy unworthy of so fine a moniker.  In that day's episode, Marina had been sneaking out her bedroom window to meet Montana, a boy from the wrong side of the tracks with whom she was irresistibly smitten.  Never mind that Marina wasn't even a mermaid (her mother preferred her soaps human; it made them easier to criticize).  No, that angelically aquatic name belonged to none other than her own angel fish, a mermaid so well behaved that she couldn't even inspire a squeaky clean family sitcom let alone a cheap daytime drama.  Which was why Marina felt so guilty now as she swam out to The Lovely Island (not to be confused with The Lonely Island; when her mom wasn't chained to her soaps, Marina managed to squeeze in some Andy Samberg ).  Her mother would accuse her of catting around, sneering that she was just like that ungrateful Jezebel Ariel.  She must never know that Ariel was Marina's hero.  Marina admired her passion and courage and the way she'd stood up to King Triton.  The Lovely Island may be just a patch of purple coral carpeting a deserted cave far from home.  Unlike Ariel's hideaway, it didn't even boast purloined treasures, artifacts of the life she wanted but feared she'd never have.  But it was hers.  The only thing in it was a mirror, which she would peer into once before covering with an old sail.  Then she'd spend the rest of her time dreaming, savoring the silence and the coral, trying to forget the hideous sea witch that had stared back at her through the glass.

Ugly is as ugly does.  Keep on keepin' on, Marina. 

Sunday, September 13, 2020

Alternate Universe Curse: Palm Springs King and Kevin

Fancy Fish Necklace

Colorful Cameo Necklace

Dandy Deco Necklace


This weekend, I watched the Hulu original movie Palm Springs, which can be summed up as a weird, nihilistic, West Coast version of Groundhog Day.  It's about a jaded manchild named Niles (a symbolic name if ever there was one) (Andy Samberg) who gets stuck in some mysterious cave while attending a wedding in Palm Springs, and as a result lives that day over and over again.  While trying to hook up with maid of honor Sarah (Cristin Milioti), he accidentally sucks her into the vortex with him.  They relive the day together on repeat, having fun and making bad decisions because, hey, no consequences!  But then Sarah discovers something about the day that she can't live with, and she and Niles must decide whether to remain in the world where time stands still or work to find a way out.  

Now may be a good time to mention that I've always been confused by Palm Springs.  Because it's a desert with a watery word in its name.  Also, when I hear desert I think cacti, not palm trees.  But in a way, this incongruity only makes the oddness of the movie more fitting.  Point to you, Andy Samberg. 

Earlier this week, I watched another movie, Jeff, Who Lives at Home.  It's about another manchild (alert Pee-wee Herman; "manchild" is the word of the day, if not week), only this one is named Jeff (Jason Segal), and he lives in his mom's (Susan Sarandon's) basement instead of in an alternate universe.  Sweet, introspective, and a little naive, Jeff is convinced that everything happens for a reason and that the universe sends him -- and all of us -- messages.  (Ok, maybe he lives in his mom's basement and in an alternate universe).  So, when he gets a wrong number call for someone named Kevin, he does whatever it takes to follow all the people and things named Kevin that pop up in his path that day.  This means spending time with his jerk of a brother, Pat (Ed Helms), which results in a bizarre string of events that lead Jeff exactly to where he's meant to be.

If I'm talking about manchildren who learn something profound via supernatural means throughout the course of a single day, then what's up with these necklaces?  Not much, but as always, I'll use every tool in my arsenal to force some tenuous connections.  


First, the flamingos in this wall art remind me of palm trees, which remind me of Palm Springs (despite there being no flamingos and only armadillos there).  Secondly, the flamingo art hangs in my home, which is also where I made these necklaces (okay, embellished these necklaces, as I just added ribbon-strung beads to already-made vintage pendants).  And finally, home is where Jeff lives. 

I told you it'd be a stretch.  What isn't is that I liked that Jeff believed in something.  And that he was a fellow homebody. 

Which is my way of saying that everything in life -- and in necklaces -- is always connected.

Monday, October 30, 2017

Something Bold, Something True, Something Borrowed, Something Glue-y


Dress: Material Girl, Macy's
Shoes: Bucco, Kohl's
Bag: Delia's
Belt: Marshalls

Electric Geometric Necklace 

Pretty Ponies Hairpins 

Lazy Daisy Days Necklace

 Chockful of Charms Bracelet

Let's face it.  These posts are always about something old/bold, new/true, and/or blue/glue-y (borrowed not so much, unless you count my occasionally unauthorized shots of other people's yards).  But they aren't always about books, and they're almost never about marriage.  Except for this one, which is about a book about marriage.  Sort of.

It's not often that I read something that hangs on in my head for days.  But The Marriage Plot did, with all the tenacious nerve of a drunken guest who just won't leave a wedding.  Written by Jeffery Eugenides, the same man who gave us The Virgin Suicides and Middlesex (full disclosure: I've never read Middlesex; I just like referencing it.) comes a coming-of-age novel about love, commitment, and, as always, the big, bad world.


It begins in 1982 and is about Madeline, Mitchell, and Leonard, all seniors at Brown.  Madeline is an English major with a university president father, Mitchell is immersed in religious studies and is the son of hard-working immigrants, and Leonard is a troubled genius scientist from a broken home.  The first "oh, my" moment occurs when prim and proper Madeline flees graduation to visit Leonard, her estranged boyfriend, in the psych ward.  Brainy and beautiful, Maddy is so besotted with Victorian lit that she's gone and hand-picked herself her own dark horse hero.  No nice guys for her, especially not her nerdy friend Mitchell.  Mitchell is, in many ways, the Ducky of this story (even though I kept picturing him as Andy Samberg).  Kind and sensitive, he's a salt-of-the-earth Midwesterner whose mission is to search for truth and wisdom, no small part of which means protecting Madeline.  But his earnestness is no match for Leonard's brand of brooding brilliance.  After graduation, Leonard is chosen to join an illustrious research team on Cape Cod -- and he's asked Madeline to go with him.  Dejected but not beaten, Mitchell backpacks through Europe to study religion, ending up in an ashram in India.

The Marriage Plot starts out slowly.  In the beginning, Eugenides spends a lot of time discussing literature, philosophy, and what it means to be an English major.  Which can sometimes be a little heavy.  But it's necessary to lay the foundation, shaping this book into one of the best I've ever read.  It's got all of the ingredients for a great American novel: themes of class, gender, religion vs. science, first love, unrequited love, and the great what-if that yawns, chasm-like, after graduation.  True to his title, Eugenides plays with the marriage plot, that old staple of Austen, Brontë, and other Victorian-era authors, just as Maddy and her classmates play with that old lit parlor trick deconstruction, turning everything sacred on its head.  Clever and canny, Eugenides cuts to the heart of human relationships and the compromises we make to satisfy social norms.  All three main characters struggle to achieve an unattainable ideal.  Leonard, despite his misdeeds (and there are many), is a victim of the very biology he seeks to master, just as Madeline is held hostage by her allegiance to the subservience of Victorian mores.  And Mitchell . . . well, Mitchell tries to be the white horse guy.

Before I go on, I should say that I'm about to do that thing I sometimes do, which is to break the blogger-reader anti-spoiler contract in the spirit of some English major-y analysis.  So, if you want to read this book (instead of just my interpretation of it), then for the love of Derrida, stop reading this post.  On a related note, to anyone who thinks that this post has taken too much of an ivory tower turn for a blog about clothes and crafting, I say this: Bling thing, you make my heart sing.  You make everything -- glue-y.  Consider that my version of the dancing squirrel in that old Nick at Nite commercial about viewers who can't handle a serious message. 

Okay.  Now that that's out of the way, we can dive into that spoiler.  At one point, Mitchell writes Madeline a letter in which he begs her not to marry Leonard.  Or, as he puts it, "Do not marry that guy!"  He professes his love in an endearing, self-deprecating, very Mitchell way and tells her that she has options, all but saying that he'll offer her his hand if only she refuses Leonard's.  But Madeline never responds and does marry Leonard -- only to have it all come crashing down Gothic novel-style a mere month later when he relapses and lands in the hospital.  A kind of mad-woman-in-the-attic-and-Heathcliff hybrid, Leonard represents all that is paradoxically caged and unhinged in Victorian literature, and it's too much for Madeline -- and for him.  So he deserts Madeline and eventually (and cruelly) asks for a divorce, leaving Mitchell, ever waiting in the wings, to pick up the pieces.  He and Madeline hang out, get close, and then get together.  But it's not the storybook ending that Mitchell's always imagined.  Something's off.  Mitchell knows it, and Madeline knows it, and although it kills him to do it, Mitchell brings up the letter.  He tactfully retracts his thinly veiled but ever-present marriage proposal in favor of a much more self-sacrificing proposition -- namely that Madeline, unlike all the Victorian heroines before her, choose not to tether herself to another guy, even if that guy is him, and instead follow her dream to become a Victorian lit scholar.  This was meant to be Mitchell's good deed, not nursing the sick in India.  Madeline accepts, and we know that this is what she's wanted all along.  Because The Marriage Plot isn't about Madeline and Leonard or even Madeline and Mitchell; it's about Madeline.  It's about idealism and expectations and cutting through all that to get to what's real and important.  That's what makes this book so heartbreaking.  That happy endings aren't what you were taught, that to get a real happy ending, you have to give something up.

Damn, Jeffery (Eugenides).  No wonder you won a Pulitzer.  Even if it was for Middlesex, which everyone on Amazon liked so much better.

So there you have it.  Great reads and fresh beads. That's how we roll at The Tote Trove. 

Sunday, November 24, 2013

Farewell, Fred Flare



 Lollipop Dot Necklace

Cardigan: So, Kohl's
Camisole: So, Kohl's
Skirt: So, Kohl's
Shoes: Cape Robbin, Ami Clubwear
Lunchbox: Fred Flare
Scarf: A.C. Moore



 Chocolate Bar Bit Necklace

Sweater: So, Kohl's
Dress: Candie's, Kohl's
Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney
Bag: Glamour Damaged, Etsy
Hat: Neff, Fred Flare



Dress: Mocloth
Turtleneck: Boscov's
Bag: Marshalls
Wallet: Toddland, Fred Flare
Shoes: Journeys
Scarf: Apt. 9, Kohl's



 Bow and Bonbons Necklace


Tank: Boscov's
Skirt: Necessary Objects, Annie Sez
Shoes: Charles Albert, Alloy
Bag: Princess Vera, Kohl's
Belt: Apt. 9, Kohl's
Scarf: A.C. Moore




Top: Liz Claiborne, Marshalls
Camisole: Marshalls
Skirt: So, Kohl's
Shoes: BCBG, Macy's
Bag: Fred Flare
Belt: Wet Seal
Coat: BCBG, Macy's

When I got the email saying that Fred Flare was going out of business, I couldn't believe it.  Where was I to find my seasonal supply of hilarious holiday gifts?!  A quick scan of the comments on the retailer's blog revealed that countless other consumers felt the same way.  I'll never forget last Christmas's poo book snafu. Or the Christmas before that when my dad proclaimed his Fred Flare log pillow to be one of his favorite gifts.  So, in deference to Brooklyn's finest (get out of my head, Andy Samberg), I've sprinkled this week's wardrobe picks with my most-loved Fred Flare finery.  I know, I know.  I thought there'd be more of it, too. Talk about a case of buyer's woulda-shoulda-coulda.

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Movie Moment: What's Your Number?

Although my expectations for What's Your Number? were pretty low, I still managed to be disappointed when the bf and I rented it last weekend.  The bf, on the other hand, had even lower expectations but said that it was better than he'd thought it'd be, generously adding that it "had its moments."

Maybe I'm just getting jaded.

Early in the movie Ally Darling (Anna Faris) gets fired from her marketing job, a gig about which, as we later discover, she was lukewarm, only to be confronted by a Marie Claire article on the bus ride home that proclaims she's slept with too many men (19) to land Mr. Right.  (I could digress into a diatribe about my love-hate relationship with women's magazines but will respectfully refrain, as this post already teeters on the precipice of sour).  Things go from the proverbial bad to worse as Ally is catapulted into her sister's bachelorette party, where she learns that she has indeed slept with more men than any of the other bridesmaids.  Thus disheartened, she jumps on the bar and vows that the next guy she sleeps with will be her future husband.  Fast forward to the next morning, which finds her in bed with her former boss, who's played by that ever-so-snarky antithesis of Mr. Right, Joel McHale.   

With nothing but time on her hands, unemployed Ally launches what can only be referred to as a full-fledged stalking mission in which she tries to track down each and every one of her ex-boyfriends to determine if there's one she may possibly have overlooked.  This in and of itself seemed bizarre to me, as I'm sure it did to the legions of women out there who want nothing more than to forever disappear from the purview of past loves.  Nevertheless, I willed myself to suspend disbelief so that I may better enjoy Ally and company's antics.  And by company I mean Colin (Chris Evans), Ally's hunky and often shirtless across-the-hall neighbor.  Even more promiscuous than Ally, Colin strikes the all-important balance between recklessness and safety.  He is, after all, the only person in Ally's life who thinks that she can turn her passion for sculpting quirky characters into a career.  (Yes, folks, this is yet another movie in which the heroine is a frustrated, unappreciated artist whose spirit is cruelly crushed beneath the thumb of corporate America.  Or whatever the much less serious version of that is in the flawed, albeit highly addictive rom com genre.)  Yet even Colin's understanding ways do little to mask the lack of chemistry between him and Ally.  Sure, I wasn't expecting Notebook-caliber fireworks.  But I needed something to convince me that these two crazy kids would make it past the one-month mark.    

All criticism aside, What's Your Number? is nuanced by some highlights (as so wisely credenced by the bf).  Andy Samberg is hilarious as Ally's first lover, professional puppeteer Gerry Perry, and Faris's real-life husband Chris Pratt enjoys what may be the movie's funniest moment as the fat-suit-wearing Disgusting Donald.  Finally, David Annable of "Brothers and Sisters" fame makes an appearance as the one that got away (cue Katy Perry).  His character is one-dimensional and wooden, but I like David Annable, so I was willing to let that slide.  Just as my love for romantic comedies allowed the rest of this stuff to slide so I could enjoy a side of bubblegum with my chicken Caesar salad.