Only Book Club With People You Love

So you joined a book club.  And it's your turn to pick.  Your ideal title?  One that's not too serious but not too light, right in the sweet spot of what you'd enjoy and what you think others would enjoy too.  You search and search, but it isn't easy.  You've read this one, the others wouldn't like that one, and this one is about aliens.  Wait, what's this?  A New York Times bestseller and, oh look, the 2021 book club pick of the summer!  Plus, it's by an author you already know and love.  You click Add to Cart, feeling virtuous and even a little smug about what a good choice you've made.  But then again, you know books.  You've been a reader all your life.  You brought books to the playground, you majored in English.  You've got this.

And then one of the other book club members starts reading the book and tells you that there's something in it that'll upset another member.  And you're suddenly feeling all of the things, none of them good.  Your confidence in your ability to recognize quality literature has been shaken.  What's more, now you know how the others felt when you were so put off by The Guest List that you couldn't even finish it.  

Obviously, the "you" in this story is me, and the person who couldn't read my book was my mom or sister.  I'm not going to tell you which, nor will I reveal the title of my bad apple pick.  Partly because I don't want to open that door, but mostly because I protect the privacy of my nearest and dearest better than my own.  When I told the husband what happened, he said that 1) (without any prompting) I know good books (I knew I married him for a reason!), and 2) unless all we read is comics, this is going to keep happening.  He is, of course, right.  As was I when I said that reading is a very personal thing in last year's hard-hitting My Book Club, My Boyfriend.  

Nevertheless, this experience has forced me to grow.  There was a time when I'd cringe even after picking a movie that the other person didn't like.  So if nothing else, then being in a book club has ripped the Band-Aid right off that nonsense.  It also reminds me that other people have nonnegotiables and triggers too, and that we all need to be sensitive to each other's needs.  Still, I don't think I could be in a book club with anyone who isn't family.  Because although my mom and sister and I may sometimes disagree, there's no malice under it.  They're a safe space because they're my people.  And if I'm going to discuss books -- and all the baggage and emotions that come with that -- then I want to do it with people I love.        

That said, I'll still read my slush pile selection.  

I'll just keep it between me, myself, and I -- a.k.a. my book club of one.    

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."

Page Match: Ann With a Tee vs. Anne of Green Cables

I Heart Howlite Necklace

 Mesa Medallion Necklace

Triple Horn Unicorn Necklace

Olivia Octopus Necklace 

There are a lot of Ann's out there in pop culture, some great and some questionable.  But the best and brightest to me is Anne from L. M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables.  This starry-eyed, red-headed orphan's boundless imagination and sunny sweet spirit won her the hearts of everyone on Prince Edward Island.  My aunt gave me the boxed set one year for Christmas.  (See below; and yes, in volume one, Anne is defaced -- literally, by peeling paper in her facial region.  If that doesn't say much-loved, obsessively-read childhood favorite, then I don't know what does.)  As soon as I started reading the first book, I was hooked.  Anne's charming personality -- and Montgomery's heart-breakingly beautiful prose -- cast a fairy tale spell over what was an otherwise ordinary Canadian town.  That world and its everyday magic was what inspired me to start keeping a journal.  I was so eager to capture everything, to jot down every sun-dappled street, cherished new dress, and wonderfully weird thought until it became something better than it was in my mind.  This went double for the bad stuff -- once I put my worries on the page, they always seemed suddenly smaller.  So, I loved Anne for her colorfulness and her courage.  Also because she insisted that people spell her name with its proper "e."  Which I found especially funny because I always got annoyed when people inserted a superfluous "e" in Tracy.

So, if the "great" Ann is Anne of Green Gables, then who's the "questionable" one?  Why, women's fashion retailer Ann Taylor (and for the sake of this post, its more affordable offshoot, Ann Taylor Loft).  For those who don't know, this chain is a bastion of sensibly stylish apparel for no-nonsense women and as such has been the butt of many a movie and TV show joke:

This is 40: Leslie Mann's Debbie laments turning the big 4-oh by whining, "I don't want to start shopping at Chico's and Ann Taylor!"  'Nuf said.

"Girls": Season 1: A job interviewer gives Marnie's suit the stink eye and asks, "Where does one even buy an outfit like that?," to which Marnie flatly replies, "Ann Taylor."  A few seasons later: Shoshanna interviews for a job at Ann Taylor (corporate office, no sweater folding for this one) and it's going gangbusters until she passes because she wants something bigger and better.  Her bravado leads to a dead-end job in Japan, which kind of makes Ann the one that got away in this story.  Moving on.

What's Your Number?: Anna Faris's recently fired Ally uses an Ann Taylor gift card to buy a new interview suit (Ms. Taylor, it seems, always has a seat at the job hustling table).  However, unlike with Shoshanna, it's the Ann Taylor avenue that's the dead end because Ally's true destiny is making clay figurines.  Score one for team crafty!

Instant Family: Rose Byrne's Ellie deals with a foster daughter who tests her by making a crack about her old lady sweater, causing an outraged Ellie to protest, "This is from Ann Taylor!"  Sorry, Ellie, but the kid knows her stuff.

So there you have it. Ann Taylor, bastion of boring, er, sensibly stylish apparel.  A hip and free-wheeling fashionista such as myself wouldn't be caught dead wearing so much as a pair of socks from there, right?  Well, almost.

I actually have three Ann Taylor Loft garments in my wardrobe: two tops (above) that I bought eons ago and a cardigan (also above) that I picked up at an outlet in Nashville last year.  The tops aren't even Ann Taylor brand, but rather the cute and bucolic-sounding Daisy and Clover.  My favorite thing about them is that they're flattering -- so take that, sensible!  My favorite thing about the cardi is the sperm whales.  Upon seeing it out for the photo, the husband asked, "Did you put the octopus necklace with the sperm whale sweater because of their iconic yin and yang battle for the sea?"  To which I replied, "Shell, yeah."  (And yes, he really talks like that, which just goes to show we were made for each other.)

So, if that's it for Ann, then what's up with this hunter-hued sweater?  Straight out of Arizona Jeans country, this classic dream weaver serves as a backdrop for my Triple Horn Unicorn Necklace to represent -- who else? -- our girl Anne of Green Gables.  Because nothing says whimsy and wonder like one (or three) of these mystical beasts.  I've always loved unicorns (obvi).  And I think that lots of other girls and women (and/or boys and men, hey, I'm not here to judge) do too because they represent both childhood comfort and the sometimes uncomfortable idea of the fantastic and far-out unknown.

Anne with an "e," blink once if you agree.  What's that?  I have to replace volume one first because you can't blink and also might be coming down with age-related macular degeneration?  Fair enough.  I'll put in a word with Santa.  And also maybe that aunt.

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.   

Movie Moment: Take Me Home Tonight

Before I start yammering on about Take Me Home Tonight, let me begin with its poster.  It's fun, right?  Colorful, wacky, and nostalgic, it promises hijinks and heart wrapped up in a tidy two hours.  And it delivers.  Of course, maybe that's because I enjoy bubblegum kitsch without expecting anything much deeper.  But that's as good a reason as any, especially on a pizza-soaked Friday night when all you want is to ease into your forty-eight hours of freedom on a cloud of brain candy. 

So, for anyone who missed Take Me Home Tonight when it was in theaters back in March (and if you blinked you did, as it was pulled pretty quickly), it's set in the late 1980s and is about MIT grad Matt Franklin (Topher Grace), a guy who's living with his parents and working at Suncoast Video as he tries to unravel the puzzle of what to do with his life.  Also, he has a buffoonish best friend (Dan Fogler) who's just been fired from a car dealership.  And a crush on high school it girl-turned investment banker Tory Frederking (Teresa Palmer).  And a hard-nosed cop of a dad who wants him to get off his ass and do something already.  And a wise-cracking writer of a twin sister (Anna Faris) who's going through her own stuff, namely the old career vs. marriage dilemma.  If it all sounds a bit familiar, then that's because it is.  It's been done to death and we've seen it before.  But that's the same reason we (okay, I) love it.  We can relate.  Who hasn't wanted to duck into a Suncoast (ahem, shrine to the ultimate form of escapism) or a department store or, heck, a cabin in the woods to lay low and figure things out for awhile?

It doesn't hurt that the kid pondering all of this is Topher Grace.  Always one with a soft spot for nerds, I'd pick him over fellow "That 70s Show" alum Ashton Kutcher any day.  It's his underdog quality, after all, that makes his pursuit of Tori more endearing than creepy.  He quasi-stalks the girl, pretending to run into her at Suncoast as a fellow customer, a move that comes back to bite him later.  But not before bonding with her over a swell of 1980s music in a sea of big-haired, neon color-clad former classmates at big-man-on-campus Kyle Masterson's (Chris Pratt) Labor Day bash.  My biggest complaint?  When Tori gushes that her favorite song is playing, hinting for Matt to ask her to dance, it's Wang Chung's "Everybody Have Fun Tonight," not Eddie Money's "Take Me Home Tonight."  It's the title of the movie!  And much more fitting.  And, let's be honest, just a really great song.

As promised by its R rating, Take Me Home Tonight isn't all rainbows and unicorns.  It's riddled with F bombs and other eyebrow-raising behavior as it makes its circuitous way to its hopeful ending.  I say hopeful because there are a few shades of things left up in the air, which I liked.  These unfinished edges make the movie more realistic, bolstering its message that taking a few risks brings us closer to mastering our own destinies.  Deep stuff for something named after an Eddie Money song.         

Showboating With the All-American Rejects

Last night the bf and I went to see Anberlin, the All-American Rejects, and Taking Back Sunday at the House of Blues (HOB) at Showboat. As we were rushing to the theater (as always, we were late), an elderly woman in a wheelchair and her husband stopped us to ask who was playing that night. The bf and I exchanged glances before he said, "Three bands, the All-American Rejects, Taking Back . . ." The woman stopped him. "What kind of music is that?" Looking pained, he muttered, "Well, it's modern . . ." Even then she still seemed to be considering it (she must have had compted tickets), so I burst out with, "It's punk." "Oh," she said, realization dawning as her husband quickly wheeled her away. I didn't mean to be so abrupt, but I guess sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.

When we finally arrived at the entrance, I was carded. I was flattered and insulted all at once. I used to just get insulted, so I guess the flattery part means I'm getting sort of old. The HOB layout is cool; you can sit, above the stage looking down, or stand on level with the stage in a sort of clubby atmosphere. We stood, which was hard on the feet but more fun. We came in at the end of Anberlin's set but got to hear a Smiths cover and "Feel Good Drag," which was all I cared about anyway.

The All-American Rejects were up next, which was weird because I thought Taking Back Sunday would be opening for them, not the other way around. They came out to a recording of Grand Funk Railroad's "American Band," which was clever and set the tone for a high-energy performance. They opened with "Move Along" and went on playing everything we knew and some stuff we didn't. The guitarist sported an entertaining 80's Brit-rock mullet. The front man, Tyson Ritter (only know his name because I just Googled the band; apparently he was in The House Bunny with Anna Faris also.), was running around, all shirtless and sweaty, and people were moshing and body surfing. Then Tyson announced that Anberlin had had all their gear stolen in an AC parking lot and could we please take up a collection? I have no idea if this was true or not, but they passed a bucket and raised more than $500. More craziness followed, and just when I thought it was all over, Tyson said, "I wake up every evening. With a big smile on my face. And it never, ever feels of place . . . " before launching into their current hit single and therefore most anticipated song. I've never been a huge Rejects fan, but that was probably the best show I've ever been to. All the songs sounded great, and (at the risk of sounding like a cheeseball), they really knew how to get the crowd going.

As for Taking Back Sunday, not so much. We didn't know any of their songs, and the lead singer was this schlubby guy who thought it was cool to repeat everything like a robot. It wasn't. All in all, though, it was still a great night.

I'm thinking another concert may be the way to go for New Year's Eve. I love living just over the bridge and having the option to do fun stuff that I may not do if I lived somewhere else. But I wouldn't want to live in AC. Too dangerous. Much better to be in quaint, sleepy Brigantine so I can hide from the bright lights when I want to, which is most of the time. :)