Black and White and Dead All Over: The Flavor of Fare Far from Simple

 Woven Wisdom Charm Necklace

Top: POPSUGAR, Kohl's

Skirt: Xhilaration, Target

Shoes: Delicious, Zulily

Bag: J. C. Penney's

Belt: B Fabulous

Barrettes: The Tote Trove

Hi, bloggers!

I called upon this corny old joke to talk an itty bitty bit about newspapers and a lot about a book-turned-movie even though I saw the movie first.  Of all the old-timey, misogynistic sayings about women, I think the one about how real ladies appear in the newspaper only twice in their lives, once in their wedding announcement and once in their obituary, is the weirdest and most insulting.  Insert eye roll for anyone who believes that a woman's purpose in existing is snagging a husband -- until she stops existing at all and is shoved six feet under.  It's like saying that women who speak up are shameful, that women's stories don't deserve to be told.  Which is, of course, utter nonsense.  Making our presence known in the world -- whether it be through a tabloid or Twitter feed -- is essential to women's well-being.  Which is something I thought a great deal about while watching/reading A Simple Favor.    

A Simple Favor (by Darcy Bell) is not a feel-good book.  It's kind of a feel-bad book, and I wouldn't have read it at all if I hadn't seen and liked the movie (directed by Paul Feig).  This is the premise:  Uber sophisticated and cool Emily (Blake Lively) befriends quirky cute people-pleaser Stephanie (Anna Kendrick) through their five-year-old sons in their sleepy Connecticut suburb.  Emily is married to a gorgeous British dude (Henry Golding) and does PR for a fashion designer.  She's a seasoned rule-breaker, a Hitchcock blonde who's easily bored and refuses to have her picture taken.  Stephanie is a widow who blogs.  She's a do-gooder supermom who bakes gluten-free cookies and apologizes for everything, a habit that alpha dog Emily insists she break.  If they were characters from The Baby-Sitters Club, then Emily would be Stacey and Stephanie would be Mary Anne.  Their friendship deepens quickly, with each revealing secrets.  Then, one day, Emily doesn't pick up her son from Stephanie's house, and what started as a tongue-in-cheek Peyton Place-type tale veers off into "48 Hours" territory.

Stephanie's blog (vlog in the movie) is, in many ways, the core of the story.  Being a blogger, I found this interesting.  I always like to know why people blog and whom they blog for.  For Stephanie, her blog is her identity, a way for her to showcase her stay-at-home-mommy brand and combat her loneliness.  She shares parenting tips, healthy recipes, and handmade friendship bracelets, beginning every post with a cheery Hi, moms! and signing off with a Love, Stephanie, suggesting that she and her fellow moms are all in this parenting thing together.  Yet despite Stephanie's efforts, she has few followers.  It isn't until Emily vanishes and Stephanie begins investigating Emily's disappearance that her blog becomes popular.  Solidarity, it seems, isn't as intriguing as sordidness.  Stephanie crafts posts that let Emily know that she knows she's out there.  She does so through subtext disguised as earnest grief and soul-searching, her posts becoming an echo of that old Mark Twain chestnut about fiction being the truth inside the lie.  As a result, her blog becomes more honest.  In exposing Emily, she stops apologizing, transforming this story from one of a runaway friend to one about the things we say vs. the things we don't, about the lies we tell each other and the lies we tell ourselves.

As I said, the movie and book are different.  The movie is funny.  It has a ring of mean-girl (and in one case guy) moms who serve as a sort of Greek chorus of Stephanie's torment, providing the all-too-real elements of competitive parents and PTA cliques.  The dialogue is spiked with dark humor that slices the tension, which is handy once things escalate.  The book, although a page turner, is umitigated by mirth of any kind and settles, stone-like, in the psyche.  Sometimes it's a little too creepy.  Also, in the movie Stephanie is likable.  Sure, (SPOILER ALERT!) she has a questionable, Flowers in the Attic past.  But she's kind and vulnerable and well meaning, and I wanted her to come out of this mess okay.  So, when she starts getting wise to Emily's ways and plans to break free, it's satisfying.  In the book she's a lapdog who never gets a clue, an unwitting (albeit willing) pawn in a game beyond her comprehension.  To this end, the most dramatic  difference between the movie and the book is that the movie ends one way and the book ends another.  And as everyone knows, the ending is the most important part of any story because it delivers the message.  In this case, the message is mighty confusing, a kind of Choose Your Own Adventure vortex of forks in the road.  One ending tells us that good triumphs over evil and also that life is pretty hilarious, so why not laugh at it already?  The other says that evil can never be caught, that's there's no escape from -- and no laughing at -- someone who's a sociopath.  I think that the ending you like says a lot about how you see the world.  Or, more to the point, if you see it through the eyes of an Emily or a Stephanie.   

But that's enough heavy stuff for one post.  Thankfully, this Woven Wisdom Charm Necklace lightens even the most somber of moods.  My favorite thing about it is how eclectic it is, the bold striped gumball beads contrasting with the bright tapestry charms and baby owls.  With so much going on, it was tough to find a top that would be a good backdrop, but this red POPSUGAR tee made it, well, pop.  That said, maybe Woven Wisdom isn't as far removed from this post as it seems, being complex and contradictory. 

'Cause what a tangled web we weave, when we practice to deceive.

Sorry not sorry.

Love,
Tracy

Trolling for Bargains: A Fond Farewell to Macy's of Voorhees

Trendy Toys Charm Necklace

Tee: Macy's

Skirt: Marshalls

Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Earmuffs, Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Sunglasses: Relic, Kohl's

Once upon a time, the Echelon Mall was the place to be.  It was the mall of my childhood, the place where I'd pick out my "prize" after every dentist's visit, embark on first day of school shoe shopping sprees, and gorge on My Favorite Muffins (I still miss you, pineapple cheese).  Its premier department store was Strawbridge & Clothier, which seemed like a more glamorous yet humbler Macy's.  Then, when I was in my twenties, Strawbridge went out of business, and the Voorhees store morphed into a Macy's.  Not long after that, some of the other stores started closing, and the Echelon Mall turned into the Voorhees Town Center, encompassing a new crop of nearby condos and restaurants.  These days, even Macy's is splitting the scene, leaving only Boscov's, an Auntie Anne-less (not to mention My Favorite Muffin-less) food court, and a smattering of doctors' and realtors' offices.  Yes, you read that right.  This mall no longer has an Express or a Hallmark, but if you're looking for a two-story colonial, then you've hit pay dirt.

So, I had to get to Macy's before it locked up for good.  On one hand, I was nostalgic and wanted to see what it looked like.  On the other, I was an accessory-a-holic intrigued to gawk at the weird stuff on offer.

Oddly, the most noteworthy items were the mannequins.  Naked and in various stages of dismemberment, they stood sentinel in what was once the children's department.  It was like the "Westworld" prop closet, and I couldn't help but snap a few pictures.

And good thing, too. Tammy (the Torso, a.k.a. my mannequin) was over the moon to see her brothers and sisters.  Even if Kim Cattrall had gone suspiciously AWOL.  (Although I did hear that Andrew McCarthy was caught smuggling out a life-size Santa.)

That macabre merriment out of the way, I was free to feast on the spoils.  Such as they were.  The Macy's overlords had clearly ferried in lots of old stock from some secret warehouse, and it looked as out of place and embarrassed as a new, slightly awkward zoo creature.  For one thing, the entrance of the juniors section was glutted with Lady Gaga/Elton John paraphernalia from some long-ago, unsuccessful merch mashup.  You'd think such a duo would inspire a colorful array of products, but, alas, every top, scarf, bag, and water bottle was black and white with a sad dab of lilac.  The other big come-on was an influx of Betsey Johnson Trolls accessories, which had been created to coincide with the movie of the same name.  Now, I have to pause a beat to explain just how off-put I was by the cinematic reincarnation of my favorite bridge-dwelling buddies.  The trolls of yesteryear were awesome . . . because they were ugly.  Don't get me wrong.  They were most definitely the cute kind of ugly, all endearing scrunched-up faces and unruly hair (as evidenced by the notebooks and attic escapee below).  

But that was part of their charm, whether they cavorted in wizard or princess costumes or just bare-assed in mall kiosks across this great nation.  That said, I gave the svelte, smooth-faced, sleek-haired newcomers the stink eye (no disrespect to Justin Timberlake or Anna Kendrick).  Not only was I not going to see the movie, I was most certainly not going to support these new-fangled upstarts by buying wearables emblazoned with their likeness.  Of course, that was before I received a darling pair of hot pink Betsey Johnson Trolls earmuffs for my birthday.  "Alright, no big deal," I thought, parading around with them in 50-degree weather, "they're just earmuffs; no one can tell that they're from the Trolls line."  But then I went ahead and ordered a trolls-printed tee shirt from Macy's, rationalizing that it was okay because I just liked the colors, and also because it was only $3.00.  So, when I was met with a mountain of pink, turquoise, and black earmuffs in the outerwear department of Macy's that day, I was terribly tempted by the turquoise (which should surprise no one, as this blog is filled with accounts of me declaring my hatred for things only to fall headlong in love with them).  I marched up to the makeshift counter with my 80% off find only to be told that that register was for real fur purchases only.  Well, excuse me for preferring unnaturally colored and sensibly priced synthetics to costly animal pelts.  I stalked off to another counter, where the sales clerk smirked as she attacked the label of my fuzzy new friend with an angry black marker, lest I try to reclaim my $6.40 at some still-solvent Macy's.  Indeed, the once-obsequious staff had turned kind of surly (not that I blame them, what with getting the boot -- and I don't mean Manolos). 

I (ahem) trolled the rest of the Betsey Johnson trinkets in search of more souvenirs but didn't have the heart to get another necklace or purse charm.  You know how sometimes you buy stuff that you don't really want?  Just because it's cheap and it's there?  Like, if you had a bag of Oreos and you ate the whole thing even if you didn't like Oreos very much?  Wait, what am I saying?  Everyone loves Oreos!  Let's go with Triscuits instead.  Because that's how I felt about shopping that day.  Content with my parting gift of electric blue fluff and in no mood to force down whole-wheat crackers.  So I left that old mausoleum/museum in search of a store that would endure forever.

In other words, I went on Amazon.

Movie Moment: What to Expect When You're Expecting

Romantic comedy What to Expect When You're Expecting lets it be known that giving birth is a serious business.  More in line with the shadow-tinged ensemble He's Just Not That into You than the frothier Valentine's Day and New Year's Eve, What to Expect When You're Expecting stars a who's-who cast in a network of gently intertwined stories about impending parenthood.  It mixes the feel-good with the edgy for results that are relatably realistic.  Which isn't so unexpected a hybrid from a movie based on a pregnancy manual.

Of the movie's five mothers-to-be, three become accidentally pregnant, one is adopting, and one has been trying to have a baby for two years.  It is this last mom-in-the-making, Wendy (Elizabeth Banks), who centers the threads of the story and most strongly draws our sympathies.  As the owner of a baby boutique and a breast-feeding advocate ("Have a breast day!" she chirps when ending work calls), type-A Wendy has long nurtured the dream of starting a family with her kindly (and compatibly beta) dentist husband Gary (Ben Falcone).  With her wacky assistant Janice in tow (the scene-stealing Rebel Wilson, with whom we became first acquainted in last year's Bridesmaids), she goes to extremes to ensure the welfare of her baby while emerging as a goo goo ga ga guru, an effort she redoubles after learning that Gary's jerk of a celebrity racecar driver dad (Dennis Quaid) is having twins with his trophy wife (Brooklyn Decker).  Yet all of Wendy's resolve unravels during her keynote speech at a prestigious baby biz expo.  Clad in Janice's much-too-big rainbow unicorn-emblazoned tee shirt (she peed herself just before going on), she rages about hemorrhoids and crying jags, debunking the pregnancy-is-bliss myth that the expo, and everyone else, strives to perpetuate.  As someone who never imagined pregnancy to be pleasant, I found her diatribe to be candidly reassuring.  The scene marks the movie's stand-out comic moment, the absurdity of which is largely owed to Janice's well-meant but disastrous fumblings.

The other storylines, while less gripping, are amusing, and in some parts, sad.  The movie capitalizes on the increasingly popular reality TV spoof twofold in the character of Jules (Cameron Diaz), the winner of a "Dancing with the Stars"-type show (dance partner Matthew Morrison is her baby daddy) and a take-no-prisoners Jillian Michaels-esque weight loss show host.  Dueling food truck owners and near-high school sweethearts Rosie (Anna Kendrick) and Marco (Chace Crawford) must negotiate the curveballs of their fledgling relationship, and baby photographer Holly (Jennifer Lopez) enlists the help of the "dad's group," a Saturday stroller-wielding posse headed by wise-cracking but wise Vic (Chris Rock) to convince her skittish husband (Rodrigo Santoro) that it's time to adopt.

The movie's end holds a few tense moments that may, if you're anything like the audience I watched with, have you uttering, "Huh?"  Nevertheless, the message of What to Expect When You're Expecting is ultimately life-affirming, cutting through all the muck of fear and indecision in the middle to deliver the knee-jerk optimism that always comes with the stork.

Movie Moment: Rockin' Out with Scott Pilgrim vs. the World

With a free movie coupon burning a hole in my wallet (courtesy of the free and fabulous Regal rewards club), I decided to see Scott Pilgrim vs. the World this past Sunday. I went solo, as everyone on my movie companion list was otherwise engaged. There was a sprinkling of other moviegoers at the matinee, all of whom grunted in disgust as the previews rolled on soundlessly against a "Thanks for silencing your cell phones" watermark. Thankfully, whatever was broken was fixed in time for the feature presentation.

Scott Pilgrim vs. the World is based on a Canadian graphic novel series. Not being a comic book kind of girl, I came more for the kookiness factor and for the Michael Cera. And although the story was an odd one, strangely told, I wasn't disappointed. Cera stars as the title character, a hapless twenty-two-year-old bass guitarist for an obscure rock band in Toronto. He has no job and is dating a seventeen-year-old Asian girl named Knives, much to the amusement of his friends and family (including his sarcastic and gossipy sister, played by Up in the Air's Anna Kendrick). Indeed, their relationship is pretty flimsy. Never-been-kissed Knives is the most naive seventeen-year-old on the planet and shadows Scott with pathetic puppy dog eagerness. Scott is just going through the motions, still hung up on Natalie - now superstar rocker Envy, the girl who broke his heart. At least he is until he meets Ramona, the girl of his literal and figurative dreams. The quintessential badass indie chick with a past, Ramona moved to Toronto from New York to start a quieter life. An enigma to everyone, she dyes her hair a different day-glo shade every other week and trails a string of broken-hearted suitors in her wake. Although I appreciated her edgy independence, I found her a little morose. But Scott was instantly smitten, summoning all of his courage in Cera's signature delightfully dorky way to fend off her seven evil exes.

So far, this may sound like every romantic comedy about young, misunderstood people ever written. And in some ways it is. But in other ways, not so much. Take the presentation. As each character is introduced at the movie's beginning, a little box pops up on the screen offering up said character's stats, kind of like in VH1's Pop Up Video. When Scott and Ramona go to Ramona's house on their first date, they fly there ("there" being a single door suspended in space). And, as Scott defeats each evil ex, a shower of tokens explodes onto the screen. Watching it all, I felt like I was inside a video game, as I'm sure the director intended. Although this sometimes made concentrating difficult, I give full points for originality.

As always, Cera is perfect as the endearingly dry and witty David-type guy going up against the proverbial Goliath. After battling Ramona's seven evil exes (the final and most evil of which is a record deal-wielding Jason Schwartzman), Ramona proclaims him to be "the nicest guy she ever dated." Knives (who's been lurking in the background sporting Ramona's hairstyle since being dumped early in the movie) bows out gracefully, and Scott and Ramona enter an enchanted and otherworldly realm of happily-ever-after. Little pink cartoon hearts abound.

Being a girl and all, I wasn't impressed by the many and special effects-laden fight scenes. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the edgy humor of this off-kilter little tale almost as much as I enjoyed its celebration of that timeless and much-hearted theme, misfits in love.