I finally saw Barbie yesterday, and it was every bit as fabulous as I expected. The clothes, the colors, the dance routines. But also, the message. Because if there's one thing that director Greta Gerwig makes clear, it's that being a woman is complicated. To paraphrase America Ferrera's Gloria, all we really want at the end of the day is to "wear a flattering top and feel okay." Yet sometimes the world -- and more to the point, the patriarchy -- makes that more difficult than it should be. So it's no wonder that Barbie -- both the "stereotypical" one played to perfection by Margot Robbie and all the others who share the same name -- would rather stay in Barbie Land where women are always in power and cellulite is a myth, than venture out into the real world only to be arrested for rollerblading.
It's no surprise that it's Weird Barbie (Kate McKinnon) who convinces Stereotypical Barbie to hang with the humans. After all, it doesn't get much more real than having a toddler yank your hair out by the roots and tattoo your face with Jem-style graffiti. McKinnon kooks it up brilliantly, pouring every ounce of SNL alien abductee energy into channeling the discarded doll. As for her aesthetic, it's excellently edgy, a kind of warped candy cute. Her outfit and house are my favorite.
But this isn't about Weird Barbie. It's about Stereotypical Barbie. And what she learns is what we all learn at some point -- that things aren't always perfect. Also, that sometimes it's better to have an Allan (Michael Cera) than a Ken (Ryan Gosling). Finally, not to trust men in charge. (I'm looking at you, shades-of-Mugatu Mattel CEO Will Ferrell.) Yet however imperfect, it's still okay. Because being human is a beautiful mess, and the only way to clean it up is to muss your hair and snag your stockings. Authenticity is better than plastic.
And that, Barbie girls, is nothing to toy with.
Judd Apatow's Sicker in the Head hit me the same way that his first book, Sick in the Head did. Which is to say that it's not a laugh-a-minute collection of interviews with comedians and entertainers, but an introspective look at how the comedy sausage is made. And one of the main ingredients, unsurprisingly, is emotional damage. Because for all its seeming frivolity, comedy is a coping mechanism. And if laughter is the best medicine, then comedians self medicate. Apatow puts it best in his foreword:
"I have always seen comedy as a lifeline -- which is why I've been interviewing comedians about why they do what they do since I was fifteen years old. Without comedy, I don't know how I would survive. When the pandemic was at full force, I grabbed my family and made a really silly movie. I didn't know what else to do. Is that healthy? Is it denial? Is it medicine? Is it sick? I am not sure. But now I know that when the world seems to be collapsing my reaction is to make a movie about a group of people having a meltdown during a pandemic as they attempt to make a movie about flying dinosaurs." (Apatow XII)
Apatow picks the brains of many beloved funny people, including Jimmy Kimmel, John Mulaney, Mindy Kaling, Pete Davidson, and Samantha Bee, ending, appropriately, with Will Ferrell. Because who better than the guy who wrote "I've got a fever -- and the only prescription is more cowbell" to close a conversation about being sick in the head? Ferrell talks about that, how the idea for the famous Blue Oyster Cult sketch came to him because he roots for the underdog:
"Even just the notion of driving along and listening to "(Don't Fear) The Reaper," by Blue Oyster Cult and hearing a faint sound of a cowbell. I don't know how I had that idea. I remember, the first time I heard that song, for some reason I focused on the cowbell, and I immediately thought, What's that guy's life like? Does he ever get to hang out? The sad weirdo who's trying to be a part of the group really appeals to me." (451)
Me too, Will. Me too.
December means decking the halls, and what's a necklace if not a neck garland? So I channeled my inner elf and made these two necklaces all about snowflakes and Santa (Santa, I know him!). The snowflake one, a.k.a. Winter Wonderland, makes me think of my Great Aunt Celeste's beautiful blue Christmas decorations. She put blue Christmas balls in her wineglasses and a mirror under her Christmas tree to look like a lake, and I was enchanted. The Santa one, a.k.a. Neon Noel, is your classic Claus gone glam. Deep down I always thought that those mall St. Nicks would've been more festive in hot pink and rhinestones.
And festive is the name of the game when it comes to Christmas parties and punches. Because as George Costanza's father once wisely said, it's a Festivus for the rest of us.
Which has nothing to do with what I just said. But what the hell -- if calories don't count during December, then neither does reason.
Keep it festive, people.
Remember those Stetson cologne commercials from the '90s? The ones with the glamorous cowboy and cowgirl setting off on a horse for a night of romance? (By the way, get ready for romance -- the word, not the thing -- because I'm going to use it a lot.) I always found them intriguing, even if I never smelled the dubious drugstore scent they were hawking and knew better than to romanticize people who smell, not like adventure, but horse hide. Maybe it's because I'm so firmly East Coast and am attracted to anything different. Kind of like when Maine-bred interim Dunder Mifflin branch manager Deangelo Vickers (Will Ferrell) declared his love for paintings of the Southwest.
That said, I think my love of western wear, both its bold serape stripes (I see you, Chaps sweatshirt) and blushing prairie florals (right on, Willa Cather-esque cardi), is rooted in delusion, er, idealism, much like Deangelo Vickers's. It's a way for me to experience the wild west's romance without having to endure its hardscrabble reality.
Because if there's anything I hate, then it's stuff described as hardscrabble.
See above thing about smelly horses.