The Drawbacks of Tiebacks: (Not So) Fast Food and Matters of Art

Yellow Rainbow Glow Necklace 

Yellow Rainbow Glow Earrings

Yellow Rainbow Glow Purse Charm

Top: Candie's, Kohl's

Shorts: Merona, Target

Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's

Bag: Marshalls, embellished by The Tote Trove

Belt: Izod, Marshalls

Bow: The Tote Trove

Non-tassel purse charm: The Tote Trove

Ah, tassels.  First made popular, not by hippies, but by Scarlett O'Hara when she, in the ultimate necessity-is-the-mother-of-invention moment, tore down those curtains to make that green dress.  Fortunately, I didn't need to venture any further than the nearest craft store to get the ingredients for my latest passel of tassels and pompoms (a phrase, by the way, that I say far too much on this blog).  Not that my shopping trip wasn't without its own challenges.  Oh, big-box-craft-store-that-shall-remain-nameless, you tried to deny me my discount.  But I wouldn't let a little thing like a barcode-less coupon stop me.  Anyway, in a nod to Gone with the Wind's groundbreaking green dress, I paired my Yellow Rainbow Glow trio (that's what I named my passel; nice, no?) with an emerald ensemble.

Speaking of which, it's funny that a character named Scarlett is best known for wearing green, first for the aforementioned drape dress, second for the green-print white one at the Twelve Oaks picnic.  (Yes, there's the red dress too.  The one that gets her into all the trouble.  Still, it's a sad second fiddle-dee-dee to its less va-va-voom verdant sisters.)   Then again, maybe this color conundrum makes sense.  Because Scarlett is a woman of contradictions.  For instance, she stuffs her face before said picnic in the privacy of her own home (okay, plantation) so that no one will think her unladylike for stuffing her face in front of others.  She doesn't want to do this and in fact fights it, but it's an unwritten rule of the antebellum South, and, like the South itself, she surrenders.  Yet Rhett, if given the opportunity, would have seen past such subterfuge.  I think that if he'd said, right from the get-go, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a ham (about your weird secret eating), then a lot of heartache -- and perhaps heartburn -- could have been avoided.

The same could be said for Mr. Darcy and Bridget Jones and lots of other iconic couples.  Which just goes to show that being a woman who likes food and falling in love (so a woman who, in other words, breathes), living in any time or place is in a real sisterhood of the traveling pantaloons situation.

Kind of makes you rethink sloppy seconds.

Knit Wit Brit: Bridget Jones Joneses for Junior

Fabulous Felt Pink Peach Barrette 

Nora Knits Barrette

Top: Wet Seal

Skirt (a dress!): Kohl's

Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney

Bag: Glamour Damaged, Etsy

Belt: Wet Seal

Sunglasses: Mudd, Kohl's

It seems that I still have Brits (and mums!) on the brain.  Because this post is about Helen Fielding's Bridget Jones's Baby: The Diaries.  As you may remember, I saw the movie last fall and (somewhat indignantly) thought that it was a revisionist version of the bittersweet book Mad About the Boy, in which -- spoiler alert -- Darcy (gulp) dies.  So, when I saw a pint-sized, hardbound copy of Bridget Jones's Baby: The Diaries soon after in Target, I was like, mind blown.  And promptly plunked it into my cart.

Baby picks up where Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason left off.  Yet instead of enjoying wedded bliss with Mark Darcy, Bridget has been jilted and is going it alone once again.  Well, at least until she finds herself back in bed with Mark and old flame Daniel Cleaver in the space of one frenzied weekend.  (And no, it wasn't a threesome, as Bridget's own mum horrifically asks.)  One menopause scare later, Bridget is forced to acknowledge that the egg and sperm have done their thing and that she is, in fact, with child.

As an expectant mother, Bridget's passion for rationalization reaches new heights -- baby loves cheesy potatoes, so let's have another! -- and with it her endearing appeal.  Job woes, uncertain paternity, and a disapproving mum cannot keep her from bubbling over with the proverbial joy.  Deeply personal, heartfelt, and, yes, silly, Bridget's daily thoughts, fiascoes, and anxieties are as entertaining as they are therapeutic, making us feel as if our own diaries/blogs are just a launch party away from publication.

In keeping with all this motherly love, I thought that now was as good a time as any to post my Nora Knits Barrette.  (I have no idea who Nora is, but it has a nice ring to it.)  It features a basket of pink, blue, and white balls of yarn, which means that someone (Nora, who I've since decided is a recently-dumped obsessive compulsive au pair channeling her frustrations through her knitting needles a kindly, cinnamon-scented grandmother) is busy knitting a baby blanket.  The peach barrette, on the other hand, has nothing to do with mommies or babies, except for being -- ahem -- darned cute.

And finally, a warm welcome home to Tammy!  True, she had such a good time in the Amazon that she's decided to return to work only part-time.  But the good news is that she and Flora the Floor will take turns modeling, keeping things interesting.  

As Bridget and friends would say, brilliant!  

Chris This: Hats Off to Columbus and a British Baby

Whenever the second Monday in October rolls around, I can't help but hum this little ditty (I've crossed out most of it because it's the last four lines that really stick with me.):

"One day, I took with me on the subway.
My tall silk hat, my tall silk hat.
I put it down upon the seat beside me,
My tall silk hat, my tall silk hat.
A big, fat lady came and sat upon it,
My tall silk hat, my tall silk hat.
A big, fat lady came and sat upon it,
My tall silk hat, my tall silk hat.
Christopher Columbus, now what do you think of that?
A big, fat lady sat upon my hat,
My hat she broke and that's no joke,
My hat she broke and that's no joke,
Christopher Columbus, now what do you think of that?"

Columbus's hat is a mighty big part of his old-world getup.  Sure, the hat in the song is a high silk one and not Chris's soft, brimless headgear of choice.  If anything, these song lyrics designate Columbus as, not a hero, but some sort of creepy anachronistic observer (given the whole subway bit).  Still, the association between the explorer and his most recognizable accessory is undeniable, and I wanted to do something fun to commemorate that.  My first thought was to hunt up some of those mini straw hats and make barrettes, but I couldn't find any (a situation created, no doubt, by a run on make and take scarecrow projects).  So, I came up with these hat-topped lovely ladies.  If it's not clear, then they're a work in progress, their red lips, hat bands, and decorative flowers (I'm still on the fence about eyes) still floating around in the lime Jell-O that is my imagination.  They're a little too big to be barrettes but are just the right size for strong statement brooches.  I can see them popping against colorful lapels, scarves, and sweaters, their feisty flip hairdos an homage to mod style (minis being much more intriguing than dusty old robes, or whatever it was they wore back in 1492).  Because what better way to greet a stranger -- or communicate an eagerness to, ahem, explore uncharted territory -- than with a fabulous felt likeness of some unknown lady smiling over your shoulder?

Speaking of hats, many a fine one was featured in Bridget Jones's Baby.  I know, I know.  It's poor form to review a British movie in what's meant to be a post about an American holiday, but then I did once wear a Union Jack ring on the Fourth of July, so clearly I'm without boundaries.  Anyhoo, I enjoyed this third cinematic installment of the Bridget Jones saga (and not just because of the hats, which, to be accurate, didn't even make their appearance until the very end).  Slightly more sophisticated (she's a news producer now!) but still charmingly goofy, Bridget (Renee Zellweger) wins our hearts on a new stakes-raising level.  Divorced from her beloved Mark Darcy (Colin Firth), she's returned to her sad sack spinster status, although to be fair, she is now a svelte spinster.  Well, at least until she gets pregnant.  That's right.  Rom com's real girl has ensnared herself in her stickiest snafu yet, i.e. single motherhood with two possible fathers -- stern but sweet ex Mark (Colin Firth) and ready-for-anything mogul Jack (Patrick Dempsey).  Yes, it's silly and contrived and a huge departure from Mad About the Boy, the novel upon which it's based.  In that book, Mark has died, leaving Bridget to raise their two children alone while, sigh, once again scouring London for love.  It's a good book, but I can see how a movie version would be a bit of a downer.  You know, more Sundance-indie than lunch-out-with-the-girls.  So, I'm glad that Bridget Jones's Baby stuck to the script to do what rom coms do best -- which is to say, give you exactly what you want.

I started this post with a song, so I might as well end it with one, too.  And in honor of Bridget and milliners everywhere, I'm going with Amy Grant's 1990s B-side gem, (what else?) "Hats" (mercifully, chorus only):

"One day I'm a mother
One day I'm a lover
What am I supposed to do?
Hats!
Workin' for a living
All because I'm driven
To be the very best for you."

So that's that, Mr. Columbus.  After all these years, you're still more than a mattress sale.

Charmed, in Store, and a Shutterbug Showdown

 Pump it Up Necklace

Tank: Boscov's

Cardigan: Delia's

Skirt: H&M

Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's

Bag: Princess Vera, Kohl's

Sunglasses: Mudd, Kohl's

 Paradise Punch Necklace

Top: Express, Marshalls

Jeans: l.e.i., JCPenney

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Xhilaration, Target

Scarf: A.C. Moore

Sunglasses: Cloud Nine, Ocean City 

 Teatime with Bunnies Necklace

Dress: Modcloth

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Princess Vera, Kohl's

Sunglasses: Relic, Kohl's

Rainbow Ruckus Necklace

Dress: Mossimo, Target

Shoes: Fredericks of Hollywood

Bag: DSW (embellished by The Tote Trove)

Belt: Tournier Everything Under $10

Sunglasses: Rampage, Boscov's

First, a word about last week's post.  Apparently, I was premature in waxing philosophical about that studio taking liberties with Bridget Jones's screenplay in Mad About the Boy.  The whole thing ended up being a disaster, making me ashamed of having abandoned my original damn the man position.  (Sorry to let that spoiler slip out.  Although I did manage to keep a lid on the story's main secret, so that's something.)

Now that that's out of the way, I can get on with this week's post.  As promised, I'm featuring the rest of the kawaii charm necklaces I made from my Bohemian Findings supplies (a name, by the way, that I love, mostly for its implied imagery of a classy flea market.)  The pieces were equally, ahem, charming when confined to their prepackaged sets (hello, pumps!), paired in quirky, unexpected combos (teapots and bunnies unite!), or mixed up every which way (combs and guitars and stars, oh my!), and I found them a most versatile and entertaining medium.

That said, jewelry making isn't all fun and games.  For awhile now I've been wanting to take better pictures.  Although I've improved since starting nearly six years ago, it's always bothered me that my photos lack the crisp, detailed, feel-like-you-can-reach-out-and-touch-it kind of clarity that separates the diamonds from the rhinestones.  So I finally decided to capitalize on the trick that photographers have relied upon since the beginning of time (or at least since the beginning of cameras) and take it outside already.  That's right.  I'm talking about natural light.  (Although I'm not sure that it qualifies as a trick because the words "Try to use natural light and include a great close up" run right under the blank picture blocks on the Etsy listing page.)  I set up my trusty old (and somewhat battered, thanks to my craft show days) card table in the backyard, plunked down my first piece, and started clicking.  Without the flash. It felt weird, kind of like leaving home without my watch or my phone or my (Babybel) cheese wheel.  Also, it was hot and windy, the less-than-gentle Brigantine breeze wreaking havoc with my display more than once, and my sun-scorched shoulders making me want to run for cover.  But I stayed strong, committed to my art with all the zeal of a National Geographic photographer, secure in the knowledge that it would all be worth it once I was cozily installed behind my computer.

I ended up packing it in after just two necklaces.  (I didn't want to go crazy in case it turned out that I was using the wrong angle or something.  Also, as smitten as I am with my creations, there's no way they stack up to hyenas.)  Still, I was excited as I loaded the pictures, sure that the "quality" takes would stand out in sophisticated, sun-lit prominence against the amateur hour pics I'd snapped in my cave of a hallway.  So when I couldn't immediately tell the two sets apart, I felt a little deflated.  Upon closer inspection, I realized that there was indeed a slightly inferior set, and that, lo and behold, it was the one taken in the great outdoors!  Could it be that I was still doing something wrong, maybe catching the wrong light source or being out at the wrong time of day?  Or maybe it wasn't a light thing at all; maybe I just needed a better camera.  Yet, as disappointing as all of this was, it also came as something of a relief.  Maybe, just maybe, the original pictures weren't so bad after all.  I like to think that if I had more free time, then I'd take a photography class somewhere, maybe at the local community college (as opposed to in some weirdee's basement), but the truth is, I probably wouldn't.  Because I hate taking classes or even reading how-to books.  So for now I'm going to make peace with my imperfect pictures, instead spending the bulk of my time with my beads.  And my cheese wheel.     

The Rainbow Collection . . .

Playful Parrots Necklace

Top: Alloy

Skirt: Xhilaration, Target

Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney

Bag: Loop, Marshalls

Belt: Marshalls

Sunglasses: Cloud Nine, Ocean City

 Splashy Seahorses Necklace

Top: Decree,  JCPenney

Camisole: So, Kohl's

Skirt: H&M

Shoes: Nine West, DSW

Bag: Marshalls

Sunglasses: JCPenney

 High Hair and Heels Necklace

Top: So, Kohl's

Skirt: Modcloth

Shoes: Betseyville, JCPenney

Bag: Nine West, Boscov's

Belt: Wet Seal

Scarf: Wet Seal

Sunglasses: JCPenney

. . . is a title that I could assign to many a post, not to mention one that would do Kermie proud.  But it seems especially fitting for this week's ROYGBIV-banded trio.  Each necklace features charms purchased from Etsy seller Bohemian Findings, a shop as full of fun as its pun of a name promises.  And there's more where that came from!  As ever, I got a little carried away with supplies and have three more kawaii-tastic creations to unveil next week.

Getting back to the post name, I almost didn't use it for fear that I had, horror of horrors, used it before, rainbows and pop culture puns being spokes in my whimsical wheelhouse. Now that I've been blogging for years, I constantly fret about that sort of thing, having not once but twice likened myself to one of those dreaded repetitive relatives who corner you at birthday parties with rehashed stories of departed pets, conspiracy theories, and other relatives who've stolen their antique gold watches, seats on town council, and/or husbands.  Although I seem to be getting better at this whole Internet thing, that is, social networking and having the tech skills to maintain said networks, it sometimes still baffles me.  Which is just one of the reasons (watch out for the sneaky segue) that I can relate to Bridget Jones in Helen Fielding's latest installment, Mad About the Boy.

Set fourteen years after Bridget and Mark Darcy get together, the novel pits Bridget against all sorts of new sticky situations, one of which is navigating Twitter.  She struggles to upload pictures, gets blindsided by spambots, and obsesses over her followers only to amass a respectable number and then lose most of them by insulting, of all things, a bird, Twitter's beloved mascot.  (Being Bridget, she ends up garnering even more followers, many of whom log on just to read of her latest mishaps.)  It's very funny, and I'm enjoying it hugely, in no small part because it makes me feel like it's okay to be more lax about life.  And also to eat more cookies (case in point, I had four today).  That having been said, the head shot of Fielding on the back cover is sophisticated and glamorous, not at all the sort of woman who would seem to be at home writing about the joys of delousing one's children or eating grated cheese straight from the bag.  The lice bit really threw me for a loop.  I thought, if Bridget can find the fun in that scenario, then I can stop worrying that every backyard BBQ is going to end with a deadly mosquito bite.  (I could've inserted a lot of neuroses there but felt that it was important to stay consistent with insects.)  In this sense, the whole book is a non-preachy illustration of that saying, "life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, but about learning to dance in the rain."  I usually hate that one, especially when scrawled on some shabby chic plaque or embroidered on a don't-drool-on-me pillow.  But part of the reason I hate it is because I know it's true, just like I know Brussels sprouts are good for me even though I don't eat them.  Fielding makes the whole thing more palatable, serving it up with the proverbial spoonful of sugar, even at the darkest hour, say when Bridget enrolls in an obesity clinic or is forced by studio execs to turn her screenplay, which is a rewriting of Ibsen's feminist tragedy Hedda Gabler, into a comedy that takes place on a yacht.  (There's even worse stuff going on, but as a recovering spoiler, I'll refrain from going there.)  At first that part made me mad, as I didn't want "the Man" messing with Bridget's masterpiece.  But then I realized that the whole incident was a metaphor for Bridget herself and the way she turns even the bleakest of circumstances into something that is, at times, laugh-out-loud funny, emerging even stronger than she was before.  Studio exec-manipulated or not, that's more moving then some one-dimensional tearjerker, proving that laughter truly is the best medicine.

Maybe I should embroider that on a pillow, or better yet, glue it on a necklace (a really big necklace).    

Book Report (And a Trip to the Library!): Bridget Jones's Diary by Helen Fielding

The Saturday before last I finally bit the bullet and visited the library here in Brigantine.  I'm fairly certain that I've blogged about not liking libraries before, particularly their musty smell and mystery-stained books.  But a desire to get to know my adopted town better, and yes, thriftiness (those paperback purchases add up!), finally conspired to open my mind.

Turns out I picked a good day.  No sooner had I settled into one of these groovy lime and cobalt blue couches than did I hear a chorus of dog barks and English accents filling the lobby behind me.  From what I gathered, the library was hosting a bring-your-dog party to honor Queen Elizabeth II's 86th birthday.  It seemed very quaint, the kind of thing you would - and this is just too perfect - read about in a book!  For my part, I was reading my own edition of The Pajama Girls of Lambert Square but went home with a careworn copy of Bridget Jones's Diary (in honor of Britain and all).  Somehow, I'd never read it, although I'd of course seen the movie.  Checking it out was another amusing episode, as I hadn't used my county library card since I was a minor!  The librarian looked at me curiously (I was decked out in a weekend's worth of Tote Trove finery), finally asking how old I was now.  In the end she issued me a shiny new card.  All in a day's adventuring :)

So, Bridget Jones's Diary.  At first it took some getting used to, what with its somewhat choppy diarist's tone.  But before long I became so immersed in Bridget's daily indignities that they began to seem like my own, especially as a fellow thirtysomething.  Which made me think how crazy it would be if Bridget had blogged about her romantic, professional, and family traumas, not to mention her daily weight, cigarette, drink, calorie, and lottery ticket tallies, instead of tucking them away in her notebook.  Having kept a journal for years, I couldn't help but wonder if anyone does that anymore.

Anyway, I found the plot of Bridget Jones's Diary to be more involved and a little darker than the one in the movie.  For example, there's this whole over-the-top sequence in which Bridget's mom (or rather, mum) leaves her dad for a smooth-talking swindler and a glitzy TV career, creating a compelling (not to mention hilarious) parallel between she and Bridget as independent women in different phases of their lives.  Bridget's a "career girl" (whatever that means) who kind of wants to settle down, whereas her mom, who's devoted her whole life to her family, feels like she needs to grab at life's last gasp of adventure.  I can't imagine why all of this didn't make it onto the silver screen, except that maybe it would've overshadowed the whole Daniel vs. Mark Darcy romantic tug-of-war and/or made the movie too long. 

I think it's safe to say that this library lark will hover around for awhile.  I can't wait to see what I find next time.