First peak at Les Mis: how'd they do?

I am a Les Mis DWEEB.

If there were a Bieber-level Broadway Play fangirl equivalent, I'd be the president of that club. But without the death threats and pushing other girls and trying to have the play's babies sort of thing.

Er, well -- if you could knock me up with a little Royal Albert Dream Cast, I might think about it. Little sweaty-faced Broadway Singers kicking in my gut sorta sounds fun.

Anyway -- some background statistics that might embarrass a lesser woman:

I got my hands on the cassette tape soundtrack when I was about 9 years old. My sister and I learned every word of that thing after a few listens and sang along with the earnestness, and fervor, and complete lack of emotional understanding that only elementary school students can manage.

Saw the play for the first time when I was about 10. Loved it. At ten, I loved that "On My Own" tune the best -- even grade-school kids understand unrequited love. Actually, I was a pro at the unrequited part for probably the first twenty years of my life.

My sister and I owned a L-O-T of Barbies. Enough, in fact, to recreate the entire Les Mis cast and act it out with the dolls with the cassette tape soundtrack in the background. We particular liked to giggle while staging the "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables" scene with all of our Ken dolls hovering like spooky ghosts in the windows of our rather over-sized Barbie house.

In middle school, I took it upon myself to read Victor Hugo's entire Les Miserables novel, cover to cover. It was a lot for my Mossimo-wearing, Ace of Base-listening geekster brain to process, but I was a particular breed of literary fiend, even back in those no-hips, frizzy-haired days of braces. I was a Smart Kid. I could wave all 1376 pages of that beast in front of my other Smart Kid friends like a bastion of nerd superiority.

It was an agonizing read, frankly, with too many historic details and too few make-out scenes, but an equally Les Mis-enthusiastic friend of mine created something of a literary Race to the Top and she who finished first....uh....probably had fewer friends and no after school sports (yours truly).

THEN this Les Mis-enthusiastic friend of mine and I discovered the PBS broadcast of the 10th Anniversary Concert at London's Royal Albert Hall. We recorded it from TV, got pretty skilled at fast forwarding through the PBS sales pitches, and watched that thing EVERY AFTERNOON after school for a good few months.

My super-smart girlfriend (who went on to MIT, and has a closet full of fancy degrees from places like Berkeley and can call herself Dr Les Mis Fan now) had the good sense to be romanced by the Inspector Javert character. Truly, there's a good deal of complexity and raw internal conflict there. He's a more sophisticated character by whom to become entranced at the age of 15. Me, I was still an Eponine enthusiast, waxing emotional over the unrequited love bit. Ah, to die dramatically in the arms of The One Who Got Away.

This was our Twilight.

I saw the play again in college, and every time it came to town thereafter. I think I've seen it half a dozen times by now, I've bought every iteration of the soundtrack that exists, I love it every bit as much now as I did then.

As I've aged, my allegiance to Eponine has drifted.....I began to recognize the heartbreaking poetry of Valjean's prayer in "Bring Him Home." I shivered, goosebump-ee when Javert pitched himself off of the bridge at the end of his suicide tune.

But the moment that caught me off guard came more recently, while watching the Final Goodbye Tour (or whatever they called it) when the Company came through Seattle a few years ago.

Fantine took the stage to sing I Dreamed a Dream.

Within measures: tears. Tears dripping down the cheeks, tears running off the tip of my nose, tears collecting on my chin. Whoa -- this woman has SUFFERED. This woman has loved and lost, and given up her child and seen her man abandon her and she has to fight to find enough to eat. This woman KNOWS what it's like. Forget that unrequited love nonsense -- this is the REAL deal. This is the soft-spoken agony of a women who's stony cynicism is borne of seeing everything and everyone she loved ripped from her bosom, who's suffered public shaming, seen all of her dreams dead and buried, who's sold her hair and teeth for a bit of bread, who's walking dead. Life killed the dream, dumped her in hell, kicked her around a bit, left her for dead.

That's intense.

That's emotional.

That's.......the song that Anne Hathaway sings during the trailer for the upcoming Les Mis movie.

Uh, yeah. I mean, who cares about the head-shaving and the thinnification of The Hathaway if she can't sing The Important Song, right? RIGHT - ?????????

Well, I have good news and I have bad news.

The bad news: Anne ain't Broadway caliber in the pipes department. She comes no where NEAR it.

The good news: I'll give the girl credit -- what she lacks in vocal control or power or technical prowess, she manages to ALMOST make up for in pitiful, raw emotion and a face that actually does manage to look like it's seen the death of a thousand puppies every night before bed.

I skipped the Liam Neeson film from a decade ago -- I loved the play too much to even give that movie a chance. BUT -- there's been so much press, so much speculation about casting, so many gossip rumours about who snagged which role that, I'll admit, I'm actually thinking I'll see the film.

Okay, I'm no Hugh Jackman fan, but we know the man can sing. And honestly, while I'm no Amanda Seyfried fan, her wide-eyed, grinning, innocent girl-face actually seems like a pretty good fit for the Cosette character. And Russell Crowe as Javert? That *might* be a small bit of genius. He's older, rustier, more jowel-ee these days -- that look works, in this case.

I'm willing to give this whole brouhaha a chance.

Here's the trailer. Give it a go. It's not so bad. That whole "grizzly, bearded Valjean taking on the open ocean" bit seems more than a little overwrought, but hey -- it's Hollywood -- the boyfriends of the droves of woman flocking to (hopefully not) sing along need at least a few special effects to hold their attention, right?

Our new place!

That's my new kitchen, right there.

I must have started this same paragraph over seven times in a row, trying to come up with something to say other than, "that's my new kitchen!" but after 6 months of looking at that picture and only being able to HOPE it became my kitchen, my brain is still trying to wrap itself around the idea that a dishwasher and a garbage disposal are just days away. 

I was also going to mention that it seems like going on vacation automatically means eating your own body weight in simple carbohydrates and not feeling guilty about it (Sour Patch Kids for breakfast. Fer real), but actually, that's silly: I eat my own body weight in simple carbs most days of the week. This weekend, I'm just freaking out my pancreas with a prettier view of a lovely bay in Oregon. So we'll revise that: vacation means drinking half & half in your coffee instead of nonfat milk and not feeling guilty about it.

BUT ABOUT THAT HOUSE......!

We get our keys on Sunday.

Suddenly, the last 6 months of sacrifices pay off and we get to return to normal civilization. We also get three bedrooms, a garage, a big bathtub, some "grown up" appliances and a killer view of a gorgeous valley from most rooms of the house.

We'll be blocks from our parents, we'll be an hour closer to our offices. We'll be seven minutes from church, twenty minutes from the city, and getting together with friends will no longer mean having to arrange for someone to put us up overnight if we don't feel like driving all the way back out to The Land of No Cellular Service.

Netflix will now recognize our street address as an actual, deliverable location. Television, internet, phone service: they'll all become realities again.

I'll have my first hot shower in 6 months. No joke: our water heater has been limping along on its anemic last leg for ages and replacing it was an expense that would NOT have hastened the house purchase, soooooo: tepid showers, laundry, and dish-washing became the norm.

It hasn't quite sunk in, actually --

The deal almost fell through more times than I have fingers and toes to count. It seemed that every time I was optimistic, Mr Wonderful would waver. And when he was certain things would work out, I was equally certain we'd never get out of our temporary house in the sticks.

It's an understatement to say this has tested the limits of our relationship. Selling my car, leaving my beloved apartment and relocating to a tiny cabin in the middle of Meth Country to save money was certainly no cake walk. Neither was the process of trying to introduce two willful pets to one another, then having to say goodbye to one of them when the two refused to make nice. Living for days with no power in the middle of a snow storm that saw us pushing our car out of the driveway at 4:45 in the morning to make it to work on time last January was no small feat.  Neither was "cooking" on top of a gas fireplace when the stove and microwave were out. Being careful not to take one another for granted when we get home at 8pm after a two-hour commute was a delicate process.....

Living in a house with NO CLOSETS hasn't been easy.

Missing out on visits with family and friends in the interest of saving money on gas hasn't been easy, just like it wasn't easy for me to say goodbye to Seattle's restaurants and realize that Alfy's Pizza was now The Dining Option for the duration of our stay in Semi-Rural Mountain Foothills.

BUT -- whining is for sissies.

The wait is over, the deal is closed, and I'm now a first-time homeowner.........

Now it's time to decorate - !!!!!!

I'll count myself blessed to have a man who loves to shop at Ross, who gets as much of a kick out of World Market as I do, and who thinks a Friday date night at Target is time well spent.

Jackpot.

ALSO -- I have a Tumblr site I'm prepping to document our Decorating Process -- should be a fun excuse to take lots of pictures of shelves and color swatches and closet organizers.....

Either way: it's been an exciting, often-intimidating, challenging, but ultimately HUGELY rewarding process to purchase a place that will be our home together.......we couldn't have done it without the support and generosity of our families.

Also a kick in the pants: living 2 blocks from the middle school where we "met." I don't know how long it will take before the "who woulda thought???" novelty of driving past that school every day will wear off.............frankly, I sort of hope it never does.

Junk I bought.

I think I've mentioned before that I'm a marketing department's dream consumer.

I'm easily swayed by pretty packaging and higher prices, I'm always eager to try something new, I have just enough of a self-image issue to believe I actually NEED whatever makeup or moisturizer or pair of jeans they're selling in order to look pretty and I have just enough disposable income to be able to throw a bit of money at that self-image issue.

I wander malls for recreation, I shop online to kill time at work, I purchase on impulse, I'm basically easy prey for the sales monster.

No point being coy for the sake of trying to sound like I'm above it all.

I'm not.

And we could crucify me for living a "meaningless, consumer-driven life" (name that quote.....), but when it's time to buy, I'm a pretty good source, especially when it comes to steering other folks toward or away from stuff that's either worth (or definitely NOT worth) their own little bit of disposable income.

See: that's ME, working for YOU.

So let's do a little tour of recent "stuff" against which I was powerless. Or: Junk I bought (or, in some cases, received samples of). Because I probably paid too much for all of it, so I can pass along the "splurge" or "skip it" advice.

Urban Decay: Naked2

I passed on the original Naked palette. Was constantly out of stock, and the colors were a little too warm and golden for my cool-toned complexion. Got my hands on the "next generation" palette, Naked2 as soon as it was available.

Here's the trouble: the whole is better than the parts. Taken together, the colors look lovely,  BUT, everything fell apart for me when I tried to choose one (or two) to actually wear, come daily face routine time. Honestly: none of them stand alone ALL that well. There isn't much in the "base color" category aside from that straight-up yellow shade on the left, and too many of them are in that dangerous "glitter" category that ends up migrating to your cheeks (and hands, and then chin, and forehead, and hair) by the time you actually make it to work, for instance.

Also: Urban Decay shadows simply aren't a great consistency. They're a little on the firm side, they're difficult to blend, and they FALL like crazy. The shadow prefers to collect under your eye rather than stay on your brush and land on your lids.

Splurge or skip?
Who are we kidding, you'll find you use two of the colors, the rest sit untouched, and every time you open this you'll stare at the 4th color from the right and wonder what on earth they were thinking with that one...... iridescent asphalt-colored is flattering on so few faces.

I'll say skip.

Keep reading.

Laura Mercier: Book of Nudes

Laura Mercier is seriously underrated -- while everyone is rushing to buy the living daylights out of those Urban Decay colors with stupid names, Ms Mercier is quietly cranking out better quality colors in more practical packaging that, in this case, even includes highlighter, bronzer, blush, and liner in one adorable little container.

The colors aren't particularly highly pigmented (they're actually quite....sheer, if I had to choose a makeup-ee term), but they have terrific staying power, are nicely blendable, buildable, and any of them could stand alone. There's a nice combination of matte and shimmery, none have heavy glitter, and the charcoal cake liner is terrific.

Splurge or skip?
Splurge. It's a Grown Up Answer To An Urban Decay Situation

Laura Mercier: Shimmer Bloc

I love this enough that I bought it in several shades. Terrific compact for multiple purposes. Great as shadow, great as a highlighter, great as a bronzer, great as a blusher. Plenty of shades to choose from, they all complement nicely. The only possible drawback is that these are *highly* shimmery -- a very fine shimmer that migrates around the face a bit and left me with ShimmerSmudges in places I'd rather not shimmer.

Splurge or skip? 
I'd say splurge if you enjoy highly-reflective, purse-handy all-in-ones.

LORAC: Unzipped

UNICORN palette right here.

LORAC blows 'em all out of the water. They have shadows that are MEANT to be worn. They're soft. They glide onto your eyes like silk, even with cheap brushes. They're skin-tone friendly, they're so beautifully formulated you could wear them as blush, as highlighter on your cheekbones, I'd smear these colors all over my body -- LORAC knows eye shadow.

This little Unzipped palette is my new favorite beauty product (in a bathroom that's seen a little of just about every brand out there......). Yeah, my skin is cool-pink toned, so these mauve and raisin and plum and rosey-taupe tones are PERFECT for me, but these colors would be hard to beat for ANY complexion.

They don't fall during application, they last all day, they blend well, they complement one another -- this is the last shadow palette I'll need. Want a smokey eye? Colors on the right. Want a fresh, simple, day-time look? Colors on the left. These colors are just so WEARABLE. There isn't a single, "nope" in this kit.

Splurge or skip?
You may only splurge if you leave some for me. I'm not above stocking up in case of some sort of beauty apocalypse


LORAC: Little Black Palette

Here's the trick about LORAC: Most of their shadow combo packs actually contain very SIMILAR shades. If you like the lacy black packaging, you'll like the python packaging, and you'll like the patent leather packaging. The colors are all very approachable, very wearable, very "healthy" colors.

This little collection of warm copper colors was my first foray into LORAC shadows. I use the fairest color pretty much daily (it's great to brighten the under-eye area and cheekbones), the others, less so. They're too warm and orange-ish for my skin. HOWEVER -- the same "pluses" apply here as above: the consistency of these shadows is FANTASTIC, their staying power is terrific, and the amount they give you lasts a long time.

Splurge or skip?
If your skin has neutral or warm undertones, snap this baby up.

Dior: DiorSkin Shimmer Star

I like to pretend I'm fancy. I like to pretend I don't primarily buy $10.80 jeans from Forever21, pretend I don't snag most of my shoes from Target, pretend I'm the sort of person who has a medicine cabinet full of La Mer and that I only buy Chanel nail polish and actually get my pants tailored to fit properly.

Since I'm not "fancy" like that, I trick myself by snapping up makeup that looks like it belongs in a fancy lady's purse. This fit the bill.

It's primarily a highlighter; it looks more pigmented in the compact than it does on skin. Again, quite sheer. Does a nice job of adding some luminosity to the high points of the face and gives you a "sliding scale" of color in case you want to add some flush to the cheeks while you're at it.

The compact lasts forever (probably because it's best for a touch of glow here and there rather than daily blush use). I've never had any troubles with Dior irritating my skin, a definite plus.

Splurge or skip?
Frankly, you could probably do just as well with a similar drugstore brand product here -- unless you want to feel fancy. Which, for the price....................

Skip.

Dior: DiorShow Black Out Mascara

My eyelashes are sort of a "feature attraction" on my face, so they deserve all the TLC I can lavish on 'em, and all they're expected to provide in return is a decent volume of "wow, look at your eyelashes" type compliments. My demands of mascara are about as realistically achievable as my demands on foundation, but here's what I look for:

As close to one-coat as I can find
Volume-building
Lengthening
BLACK, black, black
Flexible (I curl, apply mascara, curl again, apply another coat, curl throughout the day).
Doesn't flake
Doesn't smudge onto my upper lid (they're long-ish, and my eyelids are Taylor Swift-ish hooded, so there's a lot of "brushing of lid with lashes" action during the day).
Comes off with water (or avocado oil, since that's what I use to remove my makeup).
Prefer a "petite" sized brush so that I can comb down to the lash line to prevent clumps.

For YEARS I used L'oreal's Voluminous mascara, but they changed the formula a year ago or so, and it no longer holds a curl -- it seems too weighty, it drags the lashes down, they won't stay crimped for more than 20 minutes. FAIL, fail, fail.

When that went south, I tried some waterproof versions of other Revlon and L'oreal brands (since the "brushing the eyelid" problem is persistent), none of them met even half of my requirements. If it was volume-building, it wasn't flexible, etc.

I tried a sample of this DiorShow Black Out and was pleased immediately.  The brush is thicker and more robust than I prefer (the small space between my lashes and eyebrows means I'm constantly removing "oops!" marks from the eye area), BUT, this is very black, is nice and thick, dries to a firm, but still decently pliable finish, stays on most of the day, comes off with water, and applies in two coats.

Not bad at all.

Splurge or skip? 
When it comes to mascara, I've tried darn near every single type sold in the drug store (from Almay to Rimmel to Wet & Wild), and most department store brands (MAC is one of the few I've yet to try). Having tried as close to everything as anyone, I'd recommend this to nearly anyone.

And for $25, it's priced no higher than any other Sephora-tier mascaras, and the tube lasts quite a long while.


Dior: DiorShow Mascara

This little guy was the precursor to the Black Out formula. Apparently it has a cult following. Apparently it's practically perfect in every way.

Apparently the folks who wear this don't want to look like they're wearing any mascara and they want to apply 4 coats to look like they're not wearing any.

Returned this stuff.

Splurge or skip?

Keep walking, keep walking.


Dior: Diorskin Nude Natural Glow Hydrating Makeup SPF 10

I'm still looking for the perfect foundation. Between my red nose and my dry skin and my general splotchiness, there's plenty I want to cover up. I also want it to last all day, to dry to an acceptably cool shade (too many oxidize out to a yellowish tone), to look dewy versus cakey, to provide decently full coverage, and -- since it's my list -- to smell good.

This pretty much doesn't exist.

If the coverage is good, it doesn't have staying power.

If it has staying power, it dries out my skin and looks flaky.

If it moisturizes the skin, it probably rubs off.

If it comes in my shade, it probably contains too much zinc oxide and causes an extreme allergic reaction.

All of that aside: this is about as close as I've come to meeting most of those criteria.

There are plenty of shades to choose from, it goes on smoothly (I prefer fingers or blending sponge to a brush), it stays put for a few hours, it dries to a moderately dewy finish, it doesn't cause breakouts if I'm prompt about removing it in the evening, and it's reasonably transfer-resistant.

The bottle doesn't seem to last quite as long as I'd like, and my pink nose/chin regions do try to force their way through by lunchtime. ALSO -- no such thing as layering this makeup on top of itself to build for better coverage -- that would land square in the "cakey and flaky" that we all avoid.

Also -- not great when concealer is applied over the top -- seems to cause separation between foundation and concealer that ends up looking decidedly "makeup-ee."

Splurge or skip? 
Since it's as close as I can come to meeting my foundation demands, I'd say splurge.



Chanel: Vitalumiere Aqua -  Ultra-light Skin Perfecting Makeup SPF 15

Another cult hit among the makeup pros. The Pixiwoo girls LOVE the Chanel foundations, and they always look flawless, so I was game to try. In the ever-expanding line of Vitalumiere formulas, interestingly, the "Aqua" version was rumoured to have fuller coverage than the flagship "Vitalumiere" formula proper (which surprised me, since anything that evokes "water" would seem, naturally, to be lighter, less heavy). So, I chose the fairest "rose" shade, and took it for a test drive.

First off: the shade I chose was the closest I've ever come to a perfect color match. Just the right amount of cool/pink undertones to match my jaw and neck perfectly without looking ruddy or flushed or wind-burned.

It applied like a dream, very evenly, very quickly (I used a egg-shaped sponge and stippled it on). Initially, the finish was lovely -- very natural. Evened out my skin tone very well, I nearly glowed.

Too bad that didn't last.

I gave this a week's time before deciding it's a "short term" makeup. Looks good in the morning, wears off in uneven patterns after only a few hours. And it would have been one thing if it had simply rubbed off of the usual places (chin, nose) -- but it "splotched" off in unusual patterns, particularly under my eyes. It was less than transfer-resistant (the lovely finish comes as a price: it never really "sets" or settles -- seems to remain on top of the skin until touched or rubbed -- then it begins it's disintegration), and required constant touch-ups (which then begins to look cakey and uneven).

Splurge or skip?
I returned it. Simply too high maintenance for daily wear.

Make Up For Ever: HD Invisible Cover Foundation

Another product with a cult following. This has nearly as many product reviews on Sephora as the Bare Minerals line (and that's saying something, since The Minerals are about the single most reviewed product on the site).

I'd seen this makeup on friends and thought their skin looked lovely. I'm also always on the lookout for foundation without an SPF, because that flashes back too dramatically in photographs for my taste (I end up with the dreaded GhostFace). This product sounds good enough -- anything advertising itself as High Definition suggests a flawless finish (and, I'd hoped, the stamina to last the day).

In the end, I've held onto this as a backup, and as a "mixer" to add to other foundations if I want heavier coverage or if I need to lighten up the shade of another brand. The Make Up For Ever color options are terrific (nearly 30 shades!), the coverage is great, the staying power is OK (this is not 8-hour makeup, you'll have to touch up, pre-happy hour), but the finish is....lackluster.

Perhaps this would be better for those with skin on the oilier end of the spectrum -- my dry skin ended up looking parched and leathery about an hour after the makeup dried, even in areas I didn't traditionally think were dry and prone to a....scaly appearance, even after liberally slathering the moisturizer.

Splurge or skip?
If you have normal-to-oily skin, this would probably work better than on me. BUT, the Dior is a better bet for ladies on the dry side.

Bobbi Brown: Foundation Stick

On the OTHER end of the scale, we have this Bobbi Brown foundation stick, the only product that's ever managed to make me look oily and greasy and slick and shiny.

Actually: that's not necessarily a BAD thing. It means it's moisturizing, which my face is always thrilled about. It's advertised as being great for mature skin, and while mine isn't technically there yet, it didn't seem to accentuate my under-eye fine lines, and it definitely gives the skin a dose of moisture.

However, that means it doesn't last very well, it isn't transfer-resistant, and, unfortunately, the colors are all too warm for my skin. The finish is, initially, fantastic -- looks refreshed and natural and moisture-kissed.

Also no denying how handy the stick formulation ends up being. Apply using your fingers, a brush, a sponge, or just swipe it directly onto your skin (though that's not great for bacterial purposes, obviously). It's quick to apply, it spreads around nicely -- has an almost buttery texture on the skin.

The Bobbi Brown website is correct -- great for most skin types EXCEPT for particularly oily complexions -- in that case, this would slip off of one half of your face before you finished applying to the other.

Splurge or skip?
If it's handiness you're after, it's difficult to beat for ease of use and portability. Splurge, and consider it an "in case of emergency" miracle concealer or a great travel companion to keep in the purse for touch-ups.

Tarte: Smooth Operator Amazonian Clay Waterproof Concealer

Speaking of concealer. I was planning to do an entire "Concealer Wars" feature that pits similarly formulas against one another to see which one ultimately did it's job (of hiding "things!") the best. Didn't end up doing that, BUT, here's the first of several that WOULD have ended up in the competition.

I can't actually vouch for the waterproof bit, here. I don't live in a humid climate, and I've yet to run into a situation at work where sitting in front of a computer ever involves water in the face.........so we're trusting 'em there.

What I can verify: it is QUITE smooth. Slips onto the skin quite nicely. The coverage is decently heavy -- it definitely evens out high coloration and blemishes and under-eye circles. Because it's so smooth and creamy, blending is a breeze.

I appreciate that there are 5 different shades -- too many concealers offer a stock "Light," and "Medium," and "Dark" that just doesn't quite cut it, even if I bother to buy two colors and blend (which I do often enough). So, extra points for color selection.

The drawback: if you have young, fresh, unlined, creaseless face without any delicate under-eye issues, this would be FANTASTIC for your skin. However -- since it's a thicker, richer formula, it does settle a bit into those little lines and little wrinkles.

The coverage wanes a bit by mid-day, so it isn't quite the shellac-type miracle I'd hoped it might be.

Splurge or skip?
It's a GOOD concealer, but I couldn't in good conscience call it a GREAT concealer, and for the price, you'd be better off sticking to a drugstore brand or the much-loved MAC Studio Fix formula (I haven't tried that one, by the by, it's just always cited as a makeup fan favorite).


Urban Decay: Primer Potion

Everyone who's tried this eye primer absolutely loves it. In fact, most go out and grab it in the other available colors. The champagne-shimmer shade "Sin" is great on its own as a pigment in addition to being great as a shadow base.

I've used this sheer shade for several years (and the reconfigured packaging is MUCH better for getting the last drops out of the container).

This is essentially eye shadow glue. Pat this onto your lids before your shadow, and it will stay in place absolutely all day. It's also a great surface preparation for blending shadows, since it gives the skin an even, matte canvas onto which shadows seem to brush and sweep and combine more gracefully.

Comes off easily with makeup remover, and this shade seems to work on just about everyone's skin; it dries to a colorless, shine-free finish, so I've used it on occasion without any shadow over the top to simply even out the color of my lids on a "no-makeup" day.

Splurge or skip?
The price is right considering a tube lasts for months of daily applications, and it certainly prolongs the life of eye shadow. It's hard to even consider it a splurge -- more of a beauty must-have.

LORAC: Behind the Scenes Eye Primer

Oops -- I'm doing it again: I'm pitting a much-loved Urban Decay product against its less-celebrated LORAC equivalent.

This is fundamentally the same product; it's a sheer eye primer that turns the average eye shadow into 24-hour marathons of perfection.

Surprise, surprise: I actually like the LORAC version better. Maybe I'm partial because I wear LORAC shadows over the top, but if there's one distinction I could make, it's that this brand is ever so slightly more viscous than the Primer Potion, and that extra viscosity gives you more time to "work" with the product before it dries.

With the Urban Decay, you have to act quickly, because once it dries: it's stuck until your makeup comes off. This primer is just that much slightly easier to spread around and blend, and just mildly more forgiving once it's out-of-the-tube and onto-the-eyelid, making it a more versatile product.

Splurge or skip?
LORAC for the win: I'd buy this one again instead. Considering I woke up this morning after (for shame), sleeping in yesterday's makeup, my eyes hadow looked EXACTLY as it did yesterday morning after I applied it (brows and lashes and everything else? Not so much).

That sealed the deal: I'm cheating on my Primary Primer.

Anastasia: Tinted Brow Gel

Consider this the holy grail of brow-setting products. I didn't even know how delightful "brow-setting products" could BE until I tried this product.

Reminded me of the days when I first discovered the joy of eyebrow plucking, and I'd routinely pluck everything into a single-hair's-width oblivion (but then, it was 1994 and everyone was plucked into oblivion). To make sure my super-skinny eyebrows stayed in place, I'd spray a brow wand with hairspray and brush them into place.

This accomplishes a similar feeling, EXCEPT we get the added benefit of tint. Myself, I gravitate toward the "Granite" shade because it's a great cool shade of taupe that's just dark enough.

This also lasts all day: a few sweeps of the wand in the morning (after I've filled in the thin spots with a pencil) and those little hairs are in place (or, strategically messed up, as my case may be) for the entire day.

Splurge or skip?
Wish I'd known about this product years ago. It's a makeup bag staple.


Mac Paint Pot

As a cream shadow, these are great. As a base for other shadow colors, these are great. As a primer, these are great. As a last-all-day alternative to powders, these are great. I even use the neutral-colored "Painterly" shade as an occasional zit concealer if I'm in a pinch, because it's close to my skin tone and stays in place for most of the day. These are hard to beat; they last forever, they're quick and easy and foolproof to apply, they're portable and require nothing other than your finger to apply.

Splurge or skip?
Skip straight to your nearest MAC counter and pick one up in every color.

Shiseido: Accentuating Color Stick

I love "Things That Can Be Used As Other Things."

I wash my hair with baking soda, remove my makeup with avocado oil, condition with apple cider vinegar, moisturize with coconut butter. All regular household Things That I Use As Other Things."

This color stick is fantastic because it serves 3 purposes (and is portable and easy to pop in the purse when heading out the door). I use it as a cheek color, I use it on my lips, I use it on my lids (hey, I like to match.....sometimes).

It's got just enough pigmentation to look great on all three places, it's a "creme to powder"-type product that dries to a nice, clean finish without being sticky and has just enough sheen not to look flat or dry. I buy the brightest pink shade I can get my hands on (I love having raspberry-colored lips), but this would be great in ANY of the available shades. Lasts for ages and ages, a little daub on the cheeks spreads and blends well, and the colors are friendly for most complexions.

Splurge or skip?
If you like the handiness of all-in-one portability: go get it.

Beauty Blender

Have to toss this in here because it's been a little bit revolutionary for me in terms of makeup application and color blending.

First of all: a little dollup of makeup on the back of your hand gets things started. Pick up some of the makeup on the sponge, and then "bounce" the sponge over your face to stipple the makeup onto the skin -- it works WONDERS. Because of the fine consistency of the sponge and the lack of edges and angles, it applies foundations flawlessly.

It's also terrific for blending products together onto your face -- helps soften the edges of blush or blend together eye shadow. It's also a great tool to feather foundation across your jaw and onto your neck for more seamless wear -- I LOVE THESE LIL GUYS. Bought several and always keep one in my purse for touch-ups.

Use them slightly damp for an even softer finish........

I'm a convert. Also: buy the cleaner. These work best when fresh and clean -- they'll last for months of daily use when you take good care of them.

Splurge or save?
Until cheaper knock-offs pop up, these DO feel like an expensive tool ("really? it's a $20 SPONGE?") but it's made an enourmous difference on my face......no lines, streaks, smears, patches.


Ta-da!

I'm beat.

Your turn. Go get pretty.

So, if you write abhorrently bad, soft core BDSM books for the mommy set, you get HUGE movie deals.

This post probably needs a disclaimer. 

Not quite what you think. Not along the "NSFW" lines, though I am prepared to be fairly frank. 

No, it needs a big "I can't be held responsible for the vitriol I'm about to spew," sort of disclaimer. Like, "Warning: 50 Shades of Crap."

It happens when I come in contact with Really Bad Writing that nets Really Big Dollars, the vitriol does. Maybe this should just become a site that examines book and movie deals and then decides if the pay is commensurate with quality. I'd never run out of material......

But anyway. 

Here's the scoop: this British lady, E L James: she had a massive lady boner for The Twilight Saga. She decides to write some "Adult Fan Fiction" based on Edward and Bella and creates an alternate universe in which the Edward character is a crazy-wealthy business tycoon who's into BDSM-type "kinkery," as I'll call it. He meets the young, virginal Bella character and draws her into his world of ropes and belts and canes. 

This was apparently SO very popular with the Twihard set that it became an entire series of eBooks (BUT, the characters' names were changed and became Christian and Anastasia.). The resulting eBook series was a huge (albeit slightly secret, guilty) hit with the ladies, and a small-ish Australian publisher picked it up for a small-ish initial print run. 

The books continued to be a runaway hit in print, it became nearly impossible to lay hands on a copy of the print version, and, BOOM, per the New York Times, earlier this month, "Vintage Books, part of the Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, known for its highbrow literary credentials, won a bidding war for the rights to all three books, paying a seven-figure sum."

If that wasn't enough: just today we're hearing: 

Universal Pictures and Focus Features announced this morning they have acquired film rights to the novel authored by TV executive and mother of two, E.L. James, with plans to create a trilogy out of the novel and its two sequels. “At its core, this is a romance of the most emotionally resonant, but delicate, order — and we look forward to working with our colleagues at Universal to transform E.L. James’ vision into a great film,” says Focus Features chief James Schamus. 

From Entertainment Weekly's "Inside Movies" blog

Even better: they've offered James a rumored $5 million for the rights to the film. 

So, if we're doing the math, this woman stands to make at least a million from the book deal, then another five million from the movie rights. 

Okay, the fact that that she's receiving a million from the publisher in an era of declining publishing revenues is a lot to swallow at face value, and it's further difficult to digest that this woman snagged more cash for the film rights than did JK Rowling for Harry Potter. According to the New York Times, publishing executives describe the excitement surrounding this book as similar to novels such as "The Da Vinci Code," "The Kite Runner," and "Eat, Pray, Love." Demand has grossly outpaced supply. It's an insane amount of cash. 

BUT, it all gets even more PAINFULLY LUDICROUS when we actually READ the novels (which, by the way, are the top 3 best selling eBooks in the whole of the Milky Way right now). Really, they're sort of parts of a whole, I don't get the feeling they were intended to be published as standalone volumes, it feels more of a profit tactic from a publishing perspective......

And, yeah, I've read all three.

Perhaps saying I've "read" them is too generous. I've SUFFERED through all three. I've smirked my way through all three. Rolled my eyes through them. What can I say...... I do what I can to keep on top of literary pop culture. I want to  know what makes readers and publishers go ape on a global basis. I feel this sort of professional obligation to find out why a certain book (or series) merits seven figures. I'm curious to know what America wants to read (particularly the part of America most likely to toss money at digital books). 

From what I can tell: 

Women are happy to read hundreds of pages of the stupid "heroine" Anastasia exclaiming "Holy crap!" and "OMG!" and "Wow, holy cow!" when her moneybags boyfriend threatens to put her over his knee. 

If I could count the number of times EL James allows her characters' "eyes to darken" or her characters to make "Mewl"-ing sounds of pleasure or for the proverbial loin-burning to be described as a "clenching low in her belly" I'd have an entire novel right there. 

If we mix in references to orgasms as "finding release" (did you lose it? was it hiding?) or being described as "coming undone," (pretty much the only two phrases James ever uses to describe that "event"), I'd have a sequel. 

If I kept track of the number of times the character bites her lip or rolls her eyes or refers to her luvah as "mercurial" I'd have my very own trilogy. 

Seriously: this E L James needs a big, heavy t-h-e-s-a-u-r-u-s. 

You know what else E L James needs? 

A BASIC UNDERSTANDING OF HOW 20-SOMETHINGS SPEAK. 

I know, I know, stands to reason a 40-something British writer will end up with characters who sound decidedly 40-something and British --  IF SHE'S A TERRIBLE WRITER. 

And you know what? These books were hardly the "scandal" they're hyped to be. If a little blindfold here and a spank there and some consensual handcuffs thrown in with some "dark looks" that make a girl's "belly tighten" are the extent of the "domination" the world is so abuzz about: they can keep it. 

Frankly, it's fairly standard-issue romance novel material: the girl can conveniently (pardon me) "find her release" on command. And it takes all of 4 seconds. He's up to go again 2 minutes later (naturally). She's always "so ready" for him (yes, that's another go-to euphemism for I'll-let-you-guess-what). 

He's forever "beguiled" and "bewildered" by her. And he says so, like a good, normal, 28 year-old dude does, naturally: "You beguile and bewilder me," is uttered more than half a dozen times over the course of the books. They use words like "unseemly," casually in conversation. This would be fine were the novel set in 1912. But it's not. This might be fine were the characters in question AARP-ish, blue bloods. But they're not. 

I'd be completely stumped over the sheer AMOUNT of press this series has received, except that I think I understand what's going on. This, from the NYT article titled "Discreetly Digital, Erotic Novel Sets American Women Abuzz:"

...this book has been credited with something else: introducing women who usually read run-of-the-mill literary or commercial fiction to graphic, heavy-breathing erotica. And in the cities and suburbs of New York, Denver and Minneapolis, the women who have devoured the books say they are feeling the happy effects at home. 

“It’s relighting a fire under a lot of marriages,” said Lyss Stern, the founder ofDivaMoms.com and one of the early fans of the series. “I think it makes you feel sexy again, reading the books.” 

One Long Island woman, who insisted on anonymity so that she would not embarrass her employer, said the book had gained an obsessive following among her friends, the first erotic novel they have ever discussed. 

“Women just feel like it’s O.K. to read it,” she said. “It’s taboo for women to admit that they watch pr0nography, but for some reason it’s O.K. to admit that they’re reading this book.” 

The trilogy has its detractors. Commentators have shredded the books for their explicit violence and antiquated treatment of women, made especially clear in the character of Anastasia, an awkward naif who consents to being stalked, slapped and whipped with a leather riding crop. 

“What I found fascinating is that there are all these supermotivated, smart, educated women saying this was like the greatest thing they’ve ever read,” said Meg Lazarus, a 38-year-old former lawyer in Scarsdale, whose friends and acquaintances have been buzzing about the book. “I don’t get it. There’s a lot of violence, and this guy is abhorrent sometimes.” 

Online reviewers have criticized the author for her plodding prose and habit of printing lengthy contracts and e-mail exchanges between characters in the text. 

“The books are just so long,” said Sarah Wendell, a blogger and the co-author of “Beyond Heaving Bosoms.” “They suffer from the same lack of content and pacing. They’re very dense, with a lot of detail. They just don’t go anywhere.”

Let's address that a little bit.

First, the claim that it's introduced women to erotica. 

Given that romance novels constitute an enormous bulk of the titles available on eBookstores' digital "shelves," I'm suspect here. Women with eReaders are reading romance novels -- it wouldn't have blossomed into the massive industry we see today were the likes of Harlequin not cranking them out as quickly as the average woman can read them. 

Is this perhaps a slightly less conventional subject matter? 

Perhaps. 

It's panty-ripping as opposed to bodice-ripping, if I were to couch it in Fabio-friendly terms. The characters have computers (and Blackberries...and use Skype) rather than butlers and postal carriers. They drive Audi's rather than ride horses. They live in urban areas rather than Scottish countrysides. BUT, the fact is that we have an innocent, but (OF COURSE) petulantly willful, female character naive in the ways of, uh....."love," and we have a horny, domineering male character bent on teaching the girl everything he knows. We have forces at work to keep them apart, we have over-the-top, post-coital declarations of never-ending love and lots of "smoothing of hair back from faces." There are masked balls. 

Yes, soirees attended while wearing masks. 

So, to say that it's introducing a new demographic of readers to the Brand New World of Erotica is to do a disservice to the massive industry that's been built on the backs of women who read these romance novels fairly regularly. 

Next point: 

Women feel like it's OK to read it and OK to discuss it. 

Welllllllllll: give any book enough press and people will admit to reading it or feel comfortable talking about it, subject matter aside. And people (I won't be so narrow as to say "women") like talking about sex. So, I don't think we ought to pin a gold star on these Shades of Grey just yet: people talk about books. People talk about books, people talk about sex, this is hardly new territory.

Next: the matter of violence and treatment of women? Because I'd be the first to run screaming from something that espouses mistreatment as an arousing experience......... and absolutely: if you were to say, "it's a book about a guy who wants to tie women up and slap 'em around" I'd be screeching in agreement -- BUT, the matter of violence is a touchy one. Reminds me a little of the supreme court's definition of Obscenity. It can be hard to define, but "...you know it when you see it." 

Actually, this guy doesn't so much as lay a finger on this girl without her express permission. In fact, he doesn't lay a finger on any of his past "submissive" partners without their express permission, either. And, when it comes down to the matter of that riding crop mentioned above: The Girl Requests It. Fantasizes about it, in fact. So, does that make it an abusive act of violence against a consenting partner when it's done with firm limits in place, one or the other can back out at any time, and it brings both partners pleasure, even if it's unconventional and sounds dangerous out-of-context? That's a tough call. Where do we draw the line between fuzzy handcuffs as bachelorette party gifts (that a couple may have NO desire to use) and some spanking action that both partners are interested in exploring? 

All-in-all, I'm actually going to come down on the side of E L James in this case and suggest that it's not an abusive relationship that this Anastasia character finds herself in -- interestingly, she's the one requesting almost ALL of the unconventional activities, and the dude is the one acquiescing in most cases.

Are the characters obnoxiously cardboard caricatures of domination and submission? 

Yep. 

BUT, does that make the character abhorrent, or just the writing? 

I think it's a weighty subject, in this case clumsily tackled by an unskilled writer, leaving something that tastes vaguely like "chauvinist" in our mouths a few chapter in, but I have to fall back on the example of archetypes common in MANY romance novels -- more often than not, the man is at the helm telling the woman what she "really wants." The genre really hasn't evolved much past a James Bondian sort of "no means yes" mindset as a whole, so I *could* argue that 75% of the genre is, in fact, creating a sexual fantasy out of oppression, patriarchy, and forced submission. I won't, but I *could.*

As for the suggestion that well-educated, ambitious women shouldn't enjoy reading erotica (even if there are cuffs and blindfolds involved): well, that feels a little sexist right there. We wouldn't say the same thing of ambitious, well-educated men who oogle Maxim or buy Playboy. And making readers wrong for the types of fiction they chose to read in the privacy of their own homes feels a little like a government making women wrong for wanting birth control covered as part of a medical plan. 

Heh. See how I just did that and worked in something irritatingly political? Yeah, you're welcome.

Finally -- the mention of plodding prose, of working email conversations into the narration, the generally over-long and clumsily slow pace of the novel? All true. 

Really, this woman's prowess with a pen is insultingly wan. THAT is the crime being perpetrated against women. We're getting suckered into paying for and reading Really Bad Romance Novels. In the hands of a better writer, these characters might have taken on more convincing dimension and an actual discussion about sexuality in America might have been more possible. We might better understand the transition of a young woman from scared and blushing to brazen and blindfolded rather than feeling like we were being given email threads instead of dialogue, and "Holy crap!"'s in place of an articulate evolution. 

BUT -- don't take my word for it: go read it yourself. 

Sincerely hoping they don't follow through with a movie: there would be no way to make this story compelling without stooping to cliches and pandering and stereotypes in the the hands of anything but a ruthless screenplay adapter .

(sorry, this is NOT about the Hunger Games)

Okay, so, it flies in the face of "Relevant Blogger Standards," BUT, I'm totally filleting traditional expectations and am NOT dedicating this sudden reemergence to The Hunger Games (though I *did* get a huge, evil CACKLE out of reading THIS story suggesting that Her Majesty The Dragon Lady (Angelina) has her panties (does she wear them?) in a jealous twist over Brad's apparent "obsession" with Jennifer Lawrence).

That was pretty hilarious.

Because Jennifer Lawrence is lovely and fresh-faced with a terrific, healthy-looking figure and a remarkably self-aware outlook, and I *highly* doubt that Ol' Senor BillyGoat (Brad) has enough sense left in him to be attracted to someone young enough to be his daughter. Put another way: when you're wired to want to sink your teeth into Dragon Lady's gristly, sun-eshewing sinew on the regular, I doubt you have it in you to get it up for something healthy and sun-kissed and baby-faced and pro-food.

And when the story says Angie's livid, I immediately call that source's bluff. Dragon Lady doesn't get livid -- she gets....pointed. Withering. She rolls her eyes and goes back to sucking the life blood out of sacrificial sheep or whatever she uses for sustenance these days.

Okay, okay. SO - since I wasn't going to dedicate this to Hunger Games, what on earth was I gonna yap about?

I was thinking I might do something "In Defense of Lana Del Rey" since the entire webernet seems to hate her for some reason, when her album is really, actually, an almost insanely, criminally, ridiculously fun guilty pleasure.

But then I thought, "nah -- how boring is that? take a 3-month Blog-Vacation (blogcation?) and pop up again just to review some CD that's been out for months? That's weak."

Okay, yep, sort of weak. My next thought was, "Just unleash that angry, political rant you've been working on for a few weeks -- come out of the Republican Closet and rail against the inability of the GOP to come up with anyone a younger generation of conservatives have any respect for...."

But then those thoughts were derailed with the thought that coming back Red and Angry after such a hiatus would just alienate me and make it seem like I'd gone away to "Conservative Summer Camp" or something and come back with An Agenda and that would just make me seem chilly and strange and fundamentalist (which is pretty close to the truth), but also, frankly, a little off-putting.

Next thought was, "just make a lot of Really Obvious Pinterest Jokes" about Cute Outfits (!!!) and smoothie-making and turning your old discarded cottage cheese containers into beautiful DIY art installation pieces for your walls -- or turning old shampoo bottles into beautiful fire hazard-ish pendant lights -- ooh!

But, uh, that was about all I could come up with there.

I will say, however, that thanks to Pinterest I've made some mighty delicious homemade peanut butter cups, some strange Italian Parmesan Sandwich-THINGS out of eggroll wrappers, and some delightful frozen yogurt bites.

I've also purchased bright red pants and grey skinny jeans (oooh, ahh) and re-considered the (perhaps) indelible merits of denim vests -- all perfectly noble endeavors.

But, yeah -- that's not really enough to warrant more than a paragraph or two. Because it felt a little stale and re-hashed. Because, sure, girls our age apparently love to share pictures of wedding dresses and inspirational (tho mostly borderline "thinspo") pictures of girls with great abs and picture tutorials involving re-purposed antique picture frame/cake stand/hubcab thingies that, when spray painted, make great places to store our makeup and de-clutter our bathroom counters (right?????).

I thought about tossing up a photo collage of Megan Fox's face since 2004 and then DARING to suggest that it's her eyebrows and yo-you weight that makes her face look so dramatically different, not necessarily a ton of cosmetic surgery. Definitely a nose job, but mostly just dramatic eyebrow enhancements.

Because I've discovered that nothing makes gossip bloggers scream "SHE TWEAKED HER FACE!" more quickly than someone changing the shape of their brows. Ask Kate Winslet.

But I thought that dedicating an entire post to Megan Fox's Face just seemed outdated, irrelevant, and "done to death."

So there we have it. Rather than make up my mind, I rambled a little, called it good, and here you are: at the end. After a 3-month vacation, we're a little rusty.

I'll get back in the swing of things.

Probably with an angry political post that has something to do with copying Whole Foods' Chicken Salad while listening to Lana Del Rey after going to see The Hunger Games.

Dear Apartment: You've been a lovely friend.

Ending any sort of long relationship: hard. Even if that relationship is with an apartment.

Saying goodbye to a dear and constant friend: also hard. Even if that dear and constant friend is a street address.

Closing and locking the door on a huge chunk of your young adult life, and turning in the key (while hoping for a security deposit refund!): melancholy, bittersweet.

So, it is with some difficulty and a melancholy, bittersweet spirit that I say goodbye to my beloved Edgewater apartment ("building B, down by the water, west of the pool -- sorry, it's not well marked!"), wishing its new residents as many cozy, comfortable years there as I enjoyed.

There were a lot of firsts I had inside the walls of that Apartment 350. Truth told, it was my first apartment altogether, so everything that happened inside those walls was a first, of sorts.

First cinnamon rolls baked in that kitchen. Discovered my love of cooking altogether and vividly remember spending the last $12.37 in my broke-single-girl bank account on butterscotch chips and baking soda and SALT.

First fruit fly infestation annihilated after surviving my first refusal to wash dishes on a regular basis and my first decision to revert to disposable plates, cups, and forks until I could bleach the bug spray off of my "grown-up-dishes."

First "Big, Manly Television" purchased and moved into that apartment.

First credit card account opened.

First car financed.

First corkscrew purchased.

First bottle of wine I'd ever bought was opened using that first corkscrew. It was horrible wine, but the bottle was so pretty. I saved the bottle and it sat on my window sill until I moved out this weekend and threw it away. Goodbye, first crappy bottle of wine.

First dates, first kisses, first fights, first cries, first "staying-up-all-night" phone conversations,  first breakups...all inside the walls of that warm, cozy, perfectly protective, beautifully sheltering refuge. No first "I love you's," interestingly -- those all happened somewhere else....interesting.

First REAL Christmas Tree (it stayed up until April and was -- eventually -- shoved out the second story living room window in dry, brittle little pieces).

First time I'd ever had space to appropriate an entire closet specifically for SHOES. This pad was a Girlie-Girl's Dream.

First drain clogged with hair that I was singularly responsible for creating and fixing.

Then there were the many's.

Many shower curtains purchased. I could never find one that I loved.

Many batches of cookies baked.

Many bottles of champagne sipped.

Many nights falling asleep to the lull of 520 traffic -- to me, it was as soothing as the ocean waves. The best type of white-noise, the type you get so used to, you have trouble falling asleep without hearing.

Many mornings waking up to cheerful little birds chirping right outside the window.

Many pairs of jeans purchased.

Many drawers filled up with cosmetics I never used (and, ceremonially, FINALLY threw out this week).

Many visitors "ooh-ing" and "ahh-ing" over the gorgeous view.

Many loops around the driveway looking for parking.

Many trips hauling groceries up the stairs, wishing parking wasn't so miserable.

Many mornings scraping ice from the windshield, wishing there was a garage.

Many summer weekends by the pool working on my sunburn.

Many afternoons on the patios of the restaurants down the street, perfecting the burn.

Many trips to the cute little carpeted grocery store.

Many gag reflexes when I'd open the fridge and realize I'd cooked too much for one person, and hadn't ditched the leftovers quite soon enough.

Many movies watched.

Many pop songs danced to.

Many blog posts written.

Many jobs. A few promotions.

Many afternoons walking through the front door, thinking, "I NEVER WANT TO MOVE OUT OF HERE. I love this house!"

Many lost pizza delivery drivers.

Many trips to "The Attic" for a burger and a Stella.

Many trips to Sorella's for a Bud Light and a horiatiki salad.

Many Friday night SVU dates with Christopher Meloni.

Many Saturday morning infomercials watched (because there was only one television channel I could tune in).

Many Christmas ornaments hung.

Many presents wrapped and placed under the tree (and then hauled out to mom and dad's to be un-wrapped).

Many New Year's Eves spent thinking, "Well that didn't really turn out like I planned...."

Many birthdays celebrated.

Many throw pillows purchased. I could never find quite the right combination.

Many loads of delicate stuff washed by hand and hung over the shower curtain to dry. And then in front of the open window when that didn't work quickly enough. And then in front of the hairdryer because it was still taking too long and a handful of quarters for the washing machine seemed like too much.

Many bikinis worn by the pool.

Many pedicures balanced on the edge of the bathroom sink.

Many spins around and around for the final "butt check" in the full length mirror before leaving the house.

Many pairs of pants hemmed by the light of Nip/Tuck episodes.

The list could go on.

I spent nearly a decade and the better part of my twenties inside those walls. When all else might have been up-in-the-air, confusing, disappointing or painful, unlocking the front door and walking into my Girl Cave was a constant comfort.

Those walls saw me cry.

Those walls saw me lip sync in my undies.

Saw me try on fourteen outfits before leaving for work in the mornings.

Saw me try on thirty two outfits before my first date with "this cute guy I remember from junior high."

Saw me eventually give in and wash those dishes, or take out that trash, or get up early on a Saturday to get in all of my "errands/shower/laundry before 9:57am so I could snag the BEST lounge chair by the pool for my 6 hour sunbathing shifts.

Saw me gain weight, lose weight, cut my hair, color my hair, dash out the door or stay in bed all day.

So, I'll miss this place.

That said: it's time to make some new memories inside some new walls. I'm looking forward to the next firsts. Our first home purchase. The first garbage disposal in nearly a decade. Having our own family soon, and creating a new home for ourselves and eventually our  kiddos and watching them make their own memories inside of our own new walls.

But every time I drive past those old, brick buildings, I'll still probably wave, and feel just a little wistful, a little melancholy, because there's so much of me etched into those walls.

Bye, house.

The Art of Fielding: A Novel (gee, ya think?)

First pet peeve: novels that tell you they're novels right on the cover.

Gee, I'm buying this from the fiction section of Costco, for instance, of COURSE its a novel. And also: don't underestimate a savvy book-buyers ability to discern whether they're buying A NOVEL or a cookbook. It's crazy the way we can actually figure that much out on our own.

But, anyway.

First problem with this book: I accidentally bought the hard copy. It took me a day or so to figure out what I'd done. I hit "purchase now with 1-click." As you do. And kept refreshing the Kindle wondering why my new purchase wasn't showing up. And kept refreshing. And kept refreshing. And then a hard copy showed up on my doorstep in an Amazon box and I realized I'd bought The Real Thing. The real, large, heavy, hard-copy, bulky, PHYSICAL novel.

My goodness.

The next thing The Novel had working against it: it's own press. Er -- yes, I purchased this not so much because I was hankering to read a baseball-themed bromance about self-discovery in the dregs of a protein shake, but because the dollar figure of writer Chad Harbach's advance was leaked to the press and legions of curious had to know if the writing warranted that giant $650,000 figure. As if any of us know what "warranted" looks like in this case, as if we had anything to compare that against. I just knew that was a lot of money, and if a first time novelist could command that dollar figure (in this era of declining advances and tightened publishing company purse strings) , I needed to find out what he was doing right.

So I read "The Art of Fielding" (A Novel).

I finished it in 3 sittings. Worth mentioning, because I slog through most books in a single evening so there's no petty internal struggle over "WHY" I'm picking the book back up and whether I'm GENUINELY compelled to turn the next page or whether I'm simply reading out of some rote sense of duty to complete the project I've begun.

With this book, that internal struggle was strong each time I hefted the book up onto my lap. Mr Wonderful would ask me, "Is it any good?" and I would say, "I'll wait until I'm done to answer that. I don't know yet." Which was my opinion up until the final pages. "I don't know yet." I was trying to separate my envy over the publicity and the giant advance check from my enjoyment of The Novel in its own right and finding that separation very difficult.

And, as many reviews I read prior to dead lifting the novel warned, this was not a plot-driven baseball story, this was a character-driven baseball story. And it's not a baseball story at all, not really, because there's not really all that much baseball actually played out on the pages. It's just that the characters do their unfolding in relative proximity to a baseball field, for the most part.

So, I'll quote the book jacket to give us our synopsis:

"At Westish College, a small school on the shore of Lake Michigan, baseball star Henry Skrimshander seems destined for big-league stardom. But when a routine throw goes distatrously off course, the fates of five people are upended.


Henry's right against self-doubt threatens to ruin his future. College president Guert Affenlight, a longtime bachelor, has fallen unexpectedly and helplessly in love. Owen Dunne, Henry's gay roommate and teammate, becomes caught up in a dangerous affai. Mike Schwartz, the Harpooners' team captain and Henry's best friend, realizes he has guided Henry's career at the expense of his own. And Pella Affenlight, Guert's daughter, returns to Westish after escaping an ill-fated marriage, determined to start a new life.


As the season counts down to its climactic final game, these five are forced to confront their deepest hopes, anxieties, and secrets. In the process, they forge new bonds and help one another find their true paths. Written with boundless intelligence and filled with the tenderness of youth, The Art of Fielding is an expansive, warmhearted novel about ambition and its limits, about family and friendship and love, and about commitment -- to oneself and to others."

Got it?

Okay -- my official decision on whether or not the book "was any good."

Yes -- but.

Yes, The Novel was good in that the sentences were finely crafted, the prose obviously labored over with an eye and an ear to fluidity and clarity and philosophical repose -- but --- we had some "hollow character" issues. For instance: if we're expected to care whether the purported "protagonist" Henry lives or dies, Harbach needed to imbue him with a certain whiff of humanity or some menial degree of warmth or depth that was simply NOT THERE. Henry was, essentially, no more than the mitt into and out of which a baseball flies. SO, when we're expected to CARE about the person attached to the mitt: we don't. Which poses something of a problem when so many pages are dedicated to his mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical decline. Frankly, there's a scene where he wanders out into the lake to swim in a (naturally) weighted vest. It's a "workout," apparently -- I ended up hoping it was a suicide attempt. The character -- not so much a protagonist as a catalyst or a fulcrum or a prop -- was insufferably wooden.


Yes, The Novel was good in the LITERARY sense; Harbach wielded the classic literary references (Melville, Chekhov, you name it) like I wield a knife around frosting. With much slathering. Which, sure, serves to remind us that The Man behind The Novel is well-educated, well-read, and well-equipped to remind us of both -- but -- the trade-off was authenticity. Missing from between the lines of literary reference upon literary reference was any sense that these were really, actually, young 20-somethings doing the thinking, the speaking, the behaving. If we'd been told that these characters were 33 or 43 instead of 23, perhaps some of the crisis of identity they experience while strung-out on Schlitz (yes, Schlitz) and Vicodin might have felt more believable.

And --  yes, I'm going to go here -- there was this small matter of misogyny. Okay, okay, that's a strong term. Perhaps it was less a malicious intent to make women look useless and more of a uselessness for women in general that bleeds through. First, I have no illusions that this is a book about men. Written by a man, for men, starring men. There's nary a female that crosses the page (save for the token "love triangle girl") but -- when they do make an appearance, the only currency with which Harbach arms them is a sort of clumsy sexuality that plays out almost like caricature. Pella, the "Girl" in The Novel, manages to market herself to intellectually and spiritually confused man-boys as though the only language all college kids speak fluently involves condoms.

Finally (and I know this will sound terribly nit-picky), there was a certain quaint, classical, almost old-fashioned tic to the way Harbach writes that evoked, culturally, anyway, a mid-century sort of college town. Something out of the 1950's. So it felt in-congruent any time he'd work in an iPod or a text message reference. It was as though we were straddling generations, comfortably floating through a 1952 collegiate paradise of baseball and puppy love and all things clean and contemplative, and then the iPhone reference would pop up, or he'd invoke the "PowerBoost" protein shake and the illusion was shattered.

However -- when it gets down to it, if you ask me "was it any good?" I'd still end up saying, "Yes." Even though it wrapped up a little too neatly, the "happily ever after" felt a little too easy, and -- FERHEAVENSSAKE -- he actually went with the lame "sports movie" ending where the crestfallen player has the opportunity to take up his cross and save the team in the most spectacularly cheesy, eye-rollingly unrealistic climax EVER. I kept thinking to myself, "Tell me he doesn't go there. Tell me he doesn't go there. Tell me -- oh NO. He's doing it. He's having the little guy come in to save the day. Damn if he didn't watch Rudy too many times growing up......"

So there was that.

But the character of Mike Schwartz really should stand the test of literary time -- were I teaching a high school Lit class, I'd probably have them dissect the Schwartzy at length because he seemed like the least wooden, most believably human character in The Novel.

Would I buy this for family members for Christmas?

Hmmmmmmmmm. Only for the family member who are literature students (or teachers), I think.

I do not get hot for Fassbender.

Uh, I need something explained to me.

WHY AM I THE ONLY PERSON WHO DOESN'T THINK THIS MICHAEL FASSBENDER GUY IS THE ULTIMATE SEXY? Lemme clarify -- not only am I not quivering in my little girl boots over this guy, I think he's about the most bland, vanilla, un-sexy, overrated, concave-chested, pasty-skinned dullard this side of Alex Skarsgard.

To further confound me -- this Fassbender guy is in every single movie released in 2011. I'm serious. Every. Single. Movie. IMDB the guy. It's ridiculous. It's like one morning Hollywood woke up, grabbed "that guy, uh, that one who was in that Basterds movie with Brad Pitt -- uh, that one guy with the name -- the odd name..." and decided to cast him in every single movie for the rest of the year.

Fassbender.

I can't escape the man.

Likewise: can't escape the legions of women who seem to want to do every unseemly thing under the sun to this guy. With this guy. While thinking about this guy. Whatever.

Then I hear that he's got some film called "Shame" coming out where he plays s a sex addict. Huh. And they're probably going to have problems finding a company to distribute the film in the states because it will inevitably end up with an NC-17 rating (due to some full frontal Fassbender) and, gee, now the celebgossipsphere is alight with women who can't seem to slurp the drool back into their mouths at the idea of checking out his cheeks. Andwhatnot.

I realize I'm not making much of a case for myself by posting tons of pictures of him -- but it was a study in the blase, trying to find a picture of him where -- even with my head tilted and my eyes blurred -- I could manage even a mildly interested shrug of "huh. Ehhhh he's OK, I guess." I came up short. Ladies (and studio executives and casting directors and wild donkeys and helium balloons and poltergeist) are going ape over this????

I just don't get it.

And I couldn't tell you if the guy can act, because I haven't seen any of his movies. OR, I saw that "Inglorious" movie a few years back, but wouldn't remember this guy from Adam (all of those uniformed men looked the same to me......). Which means he's bland AND forgettable.

I know, I know, not all men can be as dashing and handsome as my Mr Wonderful. He's one-of-a-kind. But I'd at least expect the planet earth to chose someone REASONABLY interesting, with a REASONABLE amount of character in his face and a REASONABLE dose of photogenic....oh......SWAGGER to inflict upon the greater movie-going/gossip-cruising/air-breathing public.

I know, I'm in the minority when it comes to a lot of the standard issue hot tickets. Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Ryan Gosling, Robert Pattinson, Justin Timberlake, Daniel Craig.....uh, I'm suddenly drawing a blank on most "standard issue hot tickets."

But this one: I just don't get it.

Clue me in.............convince me.