Performance Art Heart: Diffi-Cult Following

Arches and Apples Earrings

If it's weird for me to blog about a show that satirizes crafting on my blog that's mostly about crafting, then if nothing else, at least I'm consistent.  Over the years, I've posted about the Portlandia Etsy spoof, the Whitney Cummings Etsy dig, and my own unwitting star spot on handmade goods roast site Regretsy.  Which is my way of saying that I like laughing at myself and at people who laugh at themselves (and, okay, other people) too.

Enter Difficult People.  This Amy Poehler-produced Hulu original comedy (2015-2017) follows best friend comedians Billy Epstein (Billy Eichner) and Julie Kessler (Julie Klausner) as they snarkily stumble through their mid-thirties and auditions in New York City.  Both are Jewish; only Billy is gay.  It's like a mashup of Seinfeld, Will and Grace, and Curb Your Enthusiasm -- only meaner.  Indeed, in one episode, Billy and Julie describe themselves as a "homelier Will and Grace."  They're the kind of comedians who sacrifice everything (Billy's apartment is a shoebox that he Airbnbs to make extra cash) to claw their way into casting calls even though they -- and we -- know they'll never make it.  Not that that really matters, their dreams -- and the show -- being about the journey.       

Kiwi Cutie Earrings

Billy's day job is waiting tables at a quirky café; Julie's is writing reality show episode recaps.  During court-appointed community service for stealing flowers from an Alice in Wonderland memorial, Julie teaches recap writing to inmates and imparts this pearl: "Show recaps aren't about the show.  They're about you."  I like this, probably because it so closely parallels one of my favorite personal aphorisms: TV is always there for you, but you don't have to be there for (the people inside the) TV.  Romance-wise, Billy is always looking for love -- or at least his next hookup -- and Julie has a live-in boyfriend, the servile and long-suffering Arthur (James Urbaniak), who wears a bowtie and works for PBS.  Impervious to Julie's ingratitude (Where's dinner?!), affable Artie's only crime isn't even his but Urbaniak's, as he played the foot fetish shoe salesman who gave Charlotte a free pair of designer sandals on Sex and the City.  But then again, it's hard to blame Julie for haranguing Artie too much considering her monster mother, Marilyn (Andrea Martin).  Despite being a psychologist, this pint-sized narcissist manipulates Julie into doing her bidding, all while criticizing her appearance, boyfriend, and aspirations.  Of course, Marilyn also gives Julie money.  Because PBS and Real Housewives rants don't pay the bills.  

One of the things that bonds Julie and Billy -- other than their hard-bitten humor and hatred of all and sundry -- is their constant need for attention.  In one episode, Billy is all set to send former Monkee Micky Dolenz packing when the allegedly ailing entertainer begs him to produce his one-man show.  But then Dolenz goes on about how much he admires Billy, and Billy caves: "I have no problem walking away from a dying man, but not a dying fan."  Because that's the thing about this duo (Billy and Julie, not Billy and Micky).  Despite their prickly, don't-mess-with-me personas, their eager-to-please, theater kid self absorption makes them easy prey for any con man with a kind word.

Hearts and Arches Earrings

Nevertheless, at one point, Julie becomes so discouraged by the comedy rat race that she chucks it all to open a shop on Etsy.  Even though she refers to Etsy as a cult. (Yes, finally, the promised crafting connection!)  Her craft?  Wish bags for Midwesterners.  Don't ask me what a wish bag is, because I don't know, and neither does Julie.  But they sell like hotcakes, and Julie discovers that she prefers spending her days surrounded by things instead of people.

Same, Julie, same.

Still, I don't think I need to tell you that this life hack turns out to be as ironclad as those wish bags.  Bitter or not, Julie's got to get back up on that stage.  Because only trouble is interesting, and the show -- or in this case, showbiz -- must go on.

With witty one-liners, a galaxy of guest stars (Tina Fey!  John Mulaney!  Amy Sedaris!), and the kind of misanthropic humor that can thrive only on a sitcom full of eccentric, dysfunctional, and codependent heart, Difficult People is easy to love. 

Shrill Quill, Will Thrill: What Happens When Easton Meets West

Last weekend, I binged the third and final season of the Hulu original comedy Shrill.  Based on journalist Lindy West's memoir of the same name, Shrill follows Annie Easton's (Aidy Bryant) journey as a fat twentysomething journalist jousting for justice.  Now, as I said when I blogged about Big Summer, I'm not and have never been fat and don't pretend to know how fat women feel.  But I am a woman and writer who knows all too well what it's like to be weird.  So, I was on team Annie from go.

When we first meet Annie, she's meek on the outside and enraged on the inside.  Although she's a staff writer at Portland's The Weekly Thorn, she's relegated to writing calendar entries, a gig that stifles her creativity.  She's sleeping with a guy who makes her use the back door so his roommates won't see her.  And everyone from strangers to her own mother urges her to lose weight while feigning concern for her health.  Usually, she shrugs it all off.  But one day she stops being quiet and starts questioning everything (indeed, an early chapter in West's book is called "How to Stop Being Shy in Eighteen Easy Steps").  The angrier Annie gets, the more powerful her writing becomes, earning her a reputation as a voice for the voiceless.  This isn't to say that she doesn't make a boatload of bad and hilarious decisions involving but not limited to vandalism, light stalking, and awkward social encounters.  Still, Bryant brings a kind of I-got-this calm to the crazy, reminding us that Annie's not only smart, sensitive, and talented, but worthy of our respect.  This is just one of the reasons why her many wrecked romances rankle.  I had to remind myself that Shrill isn't a rom com, however much I might want it to be, and that Lindy West's own story didn't exactly wrap with her and some dude riding off into the sunset.  But that's okay.  Because Shrill is about something more important, namely accepting yourself even when -- especially when -- no one else does.  

Along for the Shrill ride are Annie's no-nonsense, Nigerian, gay best friend Fran (Lolly Adefope), on-again-off-again bad news boyfriend Ryan (Luka Jones), narcissistic drama queen boss Gabe (John Cameron Mitchell), laidback but put-upon office husband Amadi (Ian Owens), and kooky coworker Maureen (Joe Firestone), whose Carol Kane energy all but levitates from her manic persona and wild curls.  

Some other stuff to watch for: 

1) Annie's dad, who's played by Daniel Stern, the non-Joe Pesci burglar in Home Alone.  (I knew he looked familiar!) 

2) Portlandia's Fred Armisen and Carrie Brownstein (Season 3).  Armisen cameos as Gabe's long-lost bandmate, and Brownstein directs three episodes.

And that brings us to that tired old thing that people do when they start speeches.  Dictionary.com defines shrill as "betraying some strong emotion or attitude in an exaggerated amount, as antagonism or defensiveness."  And to that I say, betray away. Because emotions aren't meant to be hidden.    

After all, the (quill) pen is mightier than the sword, that early and admittedly questionable line about "jousting for justice" notwithstanding.  

Maybe I should've started with the dictionary bit after all.

Pumped for Stump: Black and White and Read All Over

Fabulous Felt Desert Barrette

Fabulous Felt Black and White Roses Barrette

Over the Rain-blow Necklace

If I can (nearly) recycle this post title, then I can recycle this necklace (and these barrettes) too.  Also, the joke is on newspapers because I never read them.

I don't read comic books (excuse me, graphic novels) either, but this last dress kind of makes me want to.  Why is it that kitschy comic prints always feature romance instead of sci-fi?  Don't get me wrong; I prefer the romance.  But heroes and bad guys and death rays are a dime a dozen in the genre, and I can't think of a single such story that centers around amour.  I know what you're thinking.  Tote Trove lady, these pop art prints aren't based on comic books or even newspapers.  They're based on the work of renowned pop artist Lichtenstein. Touché dear readers, touché.  Still, would it kill Marvel to do something about star-crossed lovers?  Maybe a Romeo and Juliet style intergalactic battle.  Or at the very least, a prom where the punch bowl explodes. 

Girly biases aside, there is a graphic novel-inspired thing that I like, and not just because it weaves a little romance in with its intrigue.  "Stumptown" is the quirkiest show about Portland since, well, "Portlandia."  It's about the adventures of rough-around-the-edges, Marine-turned-PI Dex Parios (Cobie Smulders), who has a dark past and a heart of gold (aw).  She's one of those take-no-prisoners broads who lives on the edge but always does what's right, especially for her younger brother Ansel, who has Down syndrome.  She also has two dudes in her life: buttoned-up detective Miles Hoffman (Michael Ealy) and ex con-come-bar-owner Grey McConnell (Jake Johnson).  Watching her waver between them (and also some ladies; it's complicated) while solving mysteries only adds to the fun.  Will she pick squeaky clean Miles and right her self-destructive ways?  Or will she steer into the skid and choose fellow trainwreck Grey?  There's less suspense here than one might think because, as Dex indelicately quips to her suitors while staging a sting operation, both of them have "already been inside her."

Oh, Dex.

The artistic touches in this show are cool, too.  Dex drives a beat-up old car with a radio that spontaneously bursts into '70s and '80s pop hits.  She wears a navy satin bomber jacket with a retro orange and yellow sunburst.  And the first scene of each episode freezes into a comic book page just before "Stumptown" splashes across the screen.  Best of all, Dex is witty and ballsy and always gets the last laugh.  I don't usually watch crime shows and didn't think that I'd like this one, but its style and substance won me over.

So, if I have to gulp down my comic book bites with heaping spoonfuls of small screen sugar, then so be it.

I'd rather get cavities than court Comic-con. 

Cake Talk: They Say it's Your Birthday

Yesterday, January 6, was the twelfth day of Christmas, a.k.a. the Epiphany, a.k.a the day that that guy or girl gets a partridge in a pear tree and a boatload of other weird stuff from his or her true love.  They say that love means never having to say you're sorry, but I say it means not sending someone you love live poultry.  Anyway, this year, January 6 was also the Golden Globes.  And, as usual, my birthday.  (Fun fact: Past Golden Globe winner Eddie Redmayne and I share a birthday and birth year.  You'll get why that's relevant later.)     

When it comes to birthdays, most people fall into one of two camps: people who love them and people who hate them.  Spoiler alert: I fall into the former (as does anyone who regularly writes about herself).  This year, I turned thirty-seven.  Ten or even five years ago, this would've struck me as en route to old and yesterday, as if on cue, one of my rogue white hairs resurfaced.  But then I got carded to sit in the bar at a restaurant.  So I'm going to say I broke even.

The husband baked me this cake.  It's a hummingbird cake, which, in case you don't know, is a spice cake with pineapples, carrots, and bananas (also walnuts, but I said no to those).  I'm ashamed to say that when he first told me he wanted to make it, I was less than gracious because I thought I wanted something -- gulp -- store-bought.  I didn't like the idea of someone else, even the husband, choosing my birthday cake flavor and, um, aesthetic.  Typing this now, that seems absurd.  But sometimes I have tunnel vision and choose style over substance (as evidenced by my use of the word "aesthetic" to describe baked goods).  In the end I realized that having a husband who loves me enough to make something special and personal from the heart for me (not to mention my family) is worth more than some designer stale cake that a minimum wage baker sweat/spit/dropped boogies in before going home to beat his chihuahua.  (Don't look at me like that -- you don't know what goes on at Entenmann's.)  The hummingbird cake was, of course, scrumptious, a cross between carrot cake and banana bread, both tropical and down-home delicious.  Also, it was lovely to look at, with a hummingbird not only in it (figuratively speaking; I think that's the pineapple), but on it.  We see you, "Portlandia."

I'm not sure why I told that story.  It certainly doesn't put me in the best light.  Maybe because it helped me purge my conscience.  But also, I think, because it taught me that birthdays aren't just about you and what you want (or, for that matter, Eddie Redmayne).  They're about the people who love you.  That was a little more Hallmark network than IFC, but sometimes schmaltz can't be avoided.

That said, in the spirit of celebration -- and self-indulgence (because this is still my day, dangnabbit) -- here are a few recent-ish pics of me in outfits and settings I like. 

Pulling a face in my new parka. 

Crafty in the craft room (did I really just type that?!).  A prize goes out to anyone who can spot the Mr. Crabs, Hello Kitty, and creepy cupcake doll.  No promises that the prize isn't a chihuahua.  Or live poultry. 

With the husband post great cake debate.

Kickin' it before the big birthday hoedown.  Because, boots.

Love may mean never having to say you're sorry and not sending live poultry.  But sometimes it does mean swallowing a little crow.  

Or, in this case, hummingbird.  

A Tale of Two Witties and Four Vintage Pretties

 Violet Riot Necklace

Top: Ann Taylor Loft

Skirt: Kohl's

Shoes: Candie's, Kohl's

Bag: Apt. 9, Kohl's

Belt: New York & Co.

 Green Grape Garden Necklace

Top: Macy's

Skirt: Necessary Objects, Annie Sez

Shoes: Nine West, DSW

Bag: Ecko Red, Macy's

 Good Luck Garden Necklace

Dress: Macy's

Shoes: Nine West, Macy's

Bag: XOXO, ROSS Dress for Less

Wrap: Gifted

Scarf: Macy's

 Howdy, Heartland! Necklace

Sweater: Mossimo, Target

Blouse: Candie's, Kohl's

Skirt: Kohl's

Shoes: Guess, DSW

Bag: XOXO, ROSS Dress for Less

Okay.  So the necklaces aren't strictly "vintage," and "witties" isn't even a word.  But the rhythm was right, so I ran through the night with all the energy of a rumba star (you know, if writing was like rumbaing, which I suspect it's not).  Although not members of the exclusive V class, these necklaces do have a little bit of history repeating in that they contain remnants of (my) old store-bought jewelry.  Those green panel beads in the Green Grape Garden Necklace used to be the bones of a stretch bracelet, as did the pink embossed medallions and white rhinestone clusters in the Howdy, Heartland! Necklace and the brown blossoms in the Good Luck Garden Necklace.  I love the way they add heft to this neckwear.

But it hasn't been all fashion all the time; I've been reading a lot lately, too.  Most of what I read falls into two categories: the broccoli category and the pudding category.  Broccoli books are good for you but sometimes hard to swallow.  For me, this means nonfiction and fiction that is overly dark, historical, and/or scientific.  Pudding books, on the other hand, are comfort food.  You know what you're getting and are happy to get it, returning for seconds and thirds so satiating that they anchor you to your couch.  By now you probably know that my favorite flavors are chick lit, cozy mysteries, and biographies by (non-dark) comics.  So, when I received This Shared Dream by Kathleen Ann Goonan as a gift, I knew that I was in for some broccoli.  The first clue was the telltale TOR on its spine, designating it as science fiction.  The second was the largely historical bent, an element that became apparent within the first few pages of this time-traveling saga partially set in World War II Germany.  Without getting too crazy (because there's plenty of potential for that), I'll put the plot out there.  The three Dance siblings, Jill, Brian, and Megan are dealing with the fallout of their long-missing, top-secret spy parents.  Then Jill reports encounters with their mother, landing herself in the loony bin.  Weird stuff starts happening to Brian and Megan too, leading them to conclude that their parents are still out there somewhere in the space time continuum, ostensibly on a mission to save the world from war by disseminating a brain-controlling drug called HD-50.  

Now, this would be a good place to admit that I appreciate this novel's sci-fi strangeness, its shadow of doom glowing, galaxy-like, in the background despite my habit of dissing the whole sci-fi genre.  Equally appealing is the juxtaposition of the familiar with the otherworldly, kind of like the cornfields in Superman and that Star Trek movie remake (and for all I know, the original, too -- like I said, I'm no a sci-fi aficionado), even if, in this case, the familiar is far-from-bucolic Washington, DC.  Yet, nestled amid the steel fronds of this urban jungle are idyllic scenes from the Dance family homestead, a gingerbread mansion overflowing with books and banter and a Montessori school tucked into the sun room.  Although the story is at times hard to follow, what with the time travel, the World War II references, and the science-y jargon, its central question is clear: Is it okay to control people's minds if doing so benefits the greater good?  It's an odd concept, especially because it's the inverse of the one that fuels textbook utopian dramas like 1984, The Giver, and from what I'm told, Divergent.  Those stories turn utopias on their heads, are, indeed, tales of utopias gone horribly wrong.  By contrast, This Shared Dream challenges the idea that utopias are inherently evil, which is part of what makes it such a tough, ahem, pill to swallow.  To be fair, it does do that classic push-pull, devil's advocate thing before settling into its stance of honest people don't have anything to worry about.  Nevertheless, when I reached the book's fantastical yet inevitable conclusion, it was with mixed feelings.  But I can't deny that it made me think.

And now that the broccoli's been dutifully downed, trunks and all, it's time for the pudding!  And the cherry on top (who says pudding can't have cherries?) is served up by our pals Fred and Carrie.  That's right, it's The Portlandia Cookbook, a culinary compendium that should, by all rights, be the broccoli in this analogy based solely on its crunchy cuisine.  I read it more as a book than a cookbook, which is how I read any cookbook worth its salt.  This particular collection of eclectic eats chronicles treats (and trials!) featured throughout the IFC sketch comedy series.  To be sure, the intro invites fans to not, "Put a bird on it!" but "Lay an egg on it!", slyly suggesting that a yolk or two will make a dish a real zinger.  More out-there still, the Kale and Quinoa Bowl with Tofu and Mushrooms how-to includes much-needed directions to the famed fart patio.  Other recipes reference Nina's (of Lance and Nina fame) tapas-themed birthday dinner, ex-carb addict Peter's (of Peter and Nance fame) newly moderate approach to pasta consumption, and the for-women-only margaritas mixed up by -- who else? -- Candace and Toni of Women and Women First.  

Everyone knows that Portlandia's denizens are quaintly quirky.  But can they cook?  The answer is . . . sort of.  The Portlandia Cookbook is packed with the kind of food designed to tease health conscious yet epicurean palates, spare yet fancy fare hip enough to pass muster in any Pacific Northwestern brunch spot, coffee shop, or food truck.  Which is to say that this cheese-and-crackers blogger had a tough time finding something that didn't send her taste buds screaming.  Still, I managed to home in (yes, birdlike) on this singular sugar-drenched breakfast delight:

Cream-cheese Filled Pumpkin French Toast with Pecans (pg 155)

Ingredients:

1/2 cup pecan halves

4 oz cream cheese, softened

1 tbsp confectioners' sugar, plus more for dusting

3/4 cup canned pumpkin puree

2 large eggs

1 large egg yolk

1/4 cup granulated sugar

 1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon

1/8 tsp ground cloves

Pinch of kosher salt

1 1/3 cups whole milk

8 slices of good-quality white bread

Softened butter, for the griddle

Maple syrup, warmed, for serving

Directions:

1.  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

2.  Spread the pecans out in a single layer on a pie plate and toast until fragrant and golden, 8 to 10 minutes.  Let cool, then coarsely chop.

3.  In a small bowl, using a wooden spoon, beat the cream cheese until smooth.  Add the confectioners' sugar and beat to combine.

4.  In a large bowl, whisk the pumpkin puree together with the eggs, egg yolk, granulated sugar, cinnamon, cloves, and salt.  Whisk in the milk.

5.  Arrange the bread in pairs and spread 4 slices with the cream cheese mixture, leaving a 1-inch border all around.  Top with the other 4 slices and dip each "sandwich" into the pumpkin custard, allowing it to soak for 15 to 20 seconds.  Lift the sandwiches from the custard, allowing the excess to drip back into the bowl, then place them on a platter while the griddle preheats.

6.  Heat a griddle or a nonstick skillet over medium heat and generously brush with the softened butter.  Add the sandwiches and cook until browned but not cooked through, turning once, about 4 minutes.  Brush the skillet with butter as needed.

7.  Sprinkle the almost-done French toast with confectioners' sugar, flip so the sugared side is down, and cook just until glossy, about 15 seconds.  Sprinkle the top with confectioners' sugar and repeat to cook the second side.  Transfer the French toast to a baking sheet and finish cooking in the oven until just firm and the edges are dry, about 5 minutes.  Serve the French toast with warmed maple syrup and toasted pecans and dusted with confectioners' sugar.

Pureed pumpkin for breakfast?  Tastes like pudding to me!  Except, I'd probably just buy a pudding cup instead of going through all this trouble.  Something tells me that most Portlandians would do the same.        

Dark Side Slide

 Verdant Venus Necklace

Top: L'Amore by Nanette Lepore for JCPenney

Camisole: Derek Lam for Target

Jeans: L'Amore by Nanette Lepore for JCPenney

Bag: Guess

Shoes: Payless

Scarf: Express

Dress: Candie's, Kohl's
Bag: Betsey Johnson, ROSS Dress for Less
Shoes: Charles Albert, Alloy
Sunglasses: JCPenney

Primary Pendant Necklace

Dress: Xhilaration, Target

Shoes: Charles Albert, Alloy

Bag: Betsey Johnson, ROSS Dress for Less

Belt: Wet Seal

Jacket: Mossimo, Target

 Nesting Natasha Necklace

Top: Style & Co., Macy's

Skirt: Wet Seal

Bag: Express

Shoes: Candie's, Kohl's

Belt: Wet Seal

Pink necklace: B Fabulous

Top: Macy's

Skirt: Macy's

Shoes: Diba, Burlington Coat Factory

Bag: Candie's, Kohl's

Coat: Metaphor, Sears

Chock Full of Charms Necklace

Top: Free People

Camisole: So, Kohl's

Jeans: Vanilla Star, Target

Shoes: Alloy

Bag: Nine West, ROSS Dress for Less

Coat: XOXO, Macy's

Scarf: Apt. 9, Kohl's

Winter means darker colors and also, sometimes, the Olympics.  I made the Nesting Natasha Necklace featured in this post just in time for Sochi (a city, by the way, that I thought was Japanese before the husband set me straight.  Perhaps I was thinking of sushi).  This would probably be a good time to admit that I don't like the Olympics.  A little bit because I don't like sports.  Or competitions.  But mostly because it messes with my TV programming.  Nevertheless, I was forced to reevaluate my disdain after watching that Portlandia episode in which Fred and Carrie are forced to reevaluate their disdain on the grounds that the Olympics is not the elitist operation that they originally thought it to be, but rather a coming together of amateur misfits who are merely looking for their place in the world.  Realizing this humbled me.  I still won't watch it (the Olympics, that is, not Portlandia).  But I remain humbled.

Not unlike the Olympics, winter has somewhat charmed me, making me appreciate its richer color palette. So, instead of pining for hot-temperature hues, I've embraced the challenge of making necklaces for (ever so slightly) more serious ensembles.  I was fortunate to stumble upon an entire rack of value-priced Haskell earrings at Boscov's that were so outrageously big they all but begged to be repurposed into pedants.  (I've yet to work with the beaded pair, although that's just as well, as they're far too summery for this polar-proud post.)  I also cannabilized some of my own castoff accessories, rescuing the rosy-cheeked Natasha and a bevy of other baubles to make the remaining two trinkets.    

That having been said, winter -- like all such unpleasant things -- is easier to take when you know that it's on the wane.  Indeed, since the winter solstice, it's been slowly yet steadily growing lighter each day.

Doing Portlandia Proud

 Flights of Fancy Necklace

Sweater: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney

Skirt: Decree, JCPenney

Shoes: Diba, Burlington Coat Factory

Bag: Bisou Bisou, JCPenney

 Sea Sparkle Necklace

Sweater: I Heart Ronson, JCPenney

Tee: So, Kohl's

Shoes: Carlos Santana, Macy's

Bag: Candie's, Kohl's

Belt: Wet Seal

 Funky Fish Necklace

Top: I Heart Ronson, JCPenney

Skirt: Decree, JCPenney

Boots: JCPenney

Bag: Chinese Laundry, JCPenney

Everything from JCPenney except first and third skirts, which are Xhilaration from Target.

I like to think that the people who "put a bird on it" would take a shine to this Flights of Fancy Necklace.  For any of you thinking, "huh?," I'm talking about Fred Armisen and Carrie Brownstein, those kooky kids from IFC's "Portlandia."  I caught the episode featuring the iconic skit this past weekend, an experience that rejuvenated my love for our feathered friends.  Sure, the theme of that segment was that real-life birds aren't nearly as charming as their inanimate counterparts, a point brought home by the violent flock that all but decimates the gift shop at the skit's end.  Luckily, the bird in my bib bauble isn't angry.