Rock n' Roll Toll: The Grass is Never Cleaner

Once I started reading Lauren Weisberger's latest, Where The Grass Is Green And The Girls Are Pretty, I couldn't put it down.  The writing is smart, the plot is engrossing, and the characters are sympathetic.  Even when they've done something awful.  For this is one of those novels about privileged people behaving badly.  And the privileged people on, ahem, trial here are superstar anchorwoman Peyton Marcus and, to a lesser degree, her sister, stay-at-home mom Skye Alter.    

Despite their different lifestyles, the fortyish sisters are close, enjoying the kind of tongue-in-cheek repartee exclusive to those who've come from the same womb.  Indeed, the title's Guns N' Roses reference is about a concert the sisters snuck off to (they told their mom they were going to see James Taylor), reminding us that they're partners in crime.  And now Peyton lives in The Big Apple, whereas Skye's in a suburb called Paradise -- even though it's anything but.  Peyton and Skye may poke fun at each other and harbor their little jealousies.  Yet when it comes to the outside world, they remain a united front.  But that bond is brutally tested when Peyton and her husband are accused of breaking the law.

Now, as I mentioned, these sisters are pampered, making them targets.  Especially in terms of the following detour, which I've charmingly named, not target, but "tangent time."  

Where The Grass Is Green And The Girls Are Pretty perpetuates my least-favorite trope about feminine beauty, i.e., the Madonna/whore-like mindset dictating that all women are either 1) so pure that they don't care how they look or 2) so consumed by their appearance that it ruins their lives.  In this case, it's bohemian Skye who never wears makeup (but still looks gorgeous!) and ratings queen Peyton who subjects herself to Botox and chemical peels.  Surely, most women fall somewhere in the middle of this polarizing cosmetic spectrum (Lipstick?  Yes, please!  Needles?  Not if you paid me!).  Nevertheless, Weisberger is so skilled in her development of Peyton and Skye that they never come off as stereotypes.  Spoiled?  Sometimes.  One-dimensional?  Never.  I could tell because I cared what happened to them.

Still with me?  Good. Tangent time over!

Where The Grass Is Green And The Girls Are Pretty isn't as much about right and wrong as it is about relationships.  Sister-sister, husband-wife, and mother-daughter.  Peyton is the common denominator in all three, and as such is forced to reframe how she relates to her nearest and dearest.  And things get pretty ugly before she understands that it's not Emmys, country clubs, or prestigious schools, but authenticity with her loved ones that matters.

So.  If you like scandal and satire wrapped up in heart, then Where The Grass Is Green And The Girls Are Pretty is the sharp but fetching flamingo on your library's green -- but not too green -- front lawn.

So Much to Say . . .

Glam Garden Necklace

Dress: Monteau, Marshalls

Tank: Worthington, JCPenney

Shoes: City Streets, JCPenney

Bag: Nine West, Boscov's

Blue scarf: Express

Pink scarf: Wet Seal

Sunglasses: JCPenney

 Maraschino Mint Necklace

Tank: So, Kohl's

Skirt: Olsenboye, JCPenney

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Call it Spring, JCPenney

Belt: Marshalls

Sunglasses: Cloud Nine, Ocean City

Victorian Charm Necklace

Blouse: Marshalls

Bra top: Boscov's

Skirt: Marshalls

Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's

Bag: Glamour Damaged, Etsy

Sunglasses: Target

. . . about music (if you listen real hard, you can hear Dave Matthews Band cranking out that early-1990s classic).  Sometimes I think things.  Especially when I'm in my car, listening to the radio.  Which means that more often than not those thoughts are related to music.  Here, in no particular order, are some stray ones I managed to capture:

- I heard Hootie and the Blowfish's "Let Her Cry" the other day and thought, no wonder Darius Rucker went the route of the rhinestone cowboy.  This tearjerker of a tune has country written all over it.

- Carly Simon's "You're So Vain" always makes me wonder about James Taylor (even though they say the song's not about him).  As in, self-satisfied Lothario or self-effacing hippie?  You decide. 

- Here's a thought that went so far it crossed the line into unfettered fiction:

I remember driving in the car with my mother, listening to The Killers and asking her what she thought "I've got soul but I'm not a soldier," meant, and she said, "That Brandon Flowers is a lover, not a fighter."  I think she just made that up, though, because she was like that, and because she liked Brandon Flowers the way I liked Cade McGowan (or any other boy blessed with a dangerous-sounding name)

- The last telephone on-hold music I heard was kind of Renaissance-y, which I found to be a refreshing change from the usual classical or easy listening fare.  Then it got even snappier, segueing into a catchy bluegrass-meets-adult-contemporary number that was pure Weather Channel.  The next time you tune in to plan a beach day, don't be surprised if you start wondering where you can buy the CD.

- Some thoughts on Fred Durst:

Not too long ago, for some reason, I was wondering what became of Fred Durst, only to turn on a morning radio show and learn that he's directing eHarmony commercials.  Jokes about nooky ensued.  Then, less than a week later, I heard that he has a tattoo on his chest of Kurt Cobain facing Elvis.  A man of many layers, that Fred.

- Some thoughts on cowbell:

Thanks to that Christopher Walken/Will Ferrell SNL skit, everyone knows about the cachet of cowbell in Blue Oyster Cult's "(Don't Fear) The Reaper."  But I didn't realize just what a sweetly haunting sound it could be until I heard it in the Bangles' "Hazy Shade of Winter."   Naturally, I had to Google said song to confirm that it was in fact cowbell I was hearing, and when I did, I discovered that it was a cover originally done by Simon & Garfunkel.  I didn't see that coming.  Talk about more informed living through blogging!    

 

- And finally, I'd like to see Begin Again before it leaves theaters.  This isn't so much a thought as a weekend plan, but I'm okay with that if you are.

Until next time; may all of your soundtracks be smooth ones.

Winter, Spring, Summer, or Fall, All You Have to Do is Call . . .

Fabulous Felt Rainbow Rings Necklace

Top: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Pants: Xhilaration, Target

Shoes: Betseyville, JCPenney

Bag: Marshalls

Jacket: Bisou Bisou, JCPenney

Belt: Wet Seal

 Fabulous Felt Dizzy Daisies Necklace

Dress: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Shoes: Payless

Bag: Apt. 9, Kohl's

Scarf: A.C. Moore

Fabulous Felt Geometric Jam Necklace

Top: Eric and Lani, Macy's

Cardigan: So, Kohl's

Skirt: L'Amour by Nanette Lepore for JCPenney

Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney

Bag: Marshalls

Scarf: JCPenney

. . . your stylist.  I was grocery shopping recently when the cashier asked me if I dressed by the seasons.  Confused, I asked what she meant, and she said, "You know.  Are you a Winter?"  "Oh," I said, as we both made a grab for the boxes of cookies and crackers being dumped by the conveyor belt. "No.  I don't even know what I am."  The cashier went on to say that she used to think she was a Winter until her friend declared her an Autumn.  "I don't think you should worry about it," I said.  "Just wear what you want."  And I meant it.  

So then again, maybe don't call your stylist.  Maybe fire her and use part of the money to download the soothing sounds of Mr. James Taylor instead.  I'm sure he'd appreciate that.