Fashion Indignity: Missoni for Target

Tuesday was like Black Friday for women who troll style blogs. The Missoni for Target collection launched, and some of us lost our marbles. Deal hungry fashionistas lined up around the block. And the Target website crashed from the influx of online shoppers.

I wish I could say I was above the hysteria. But, as a fortune teller once informed me: I am highly susceptible to suggestion. And for those of us who like to gaze at pretty magazines and blogs, the PR for this launch was inescapable. I bought into the hype and clocked in at my local Target at 9:47 a.m.

I was too late.

“But I didn’t know you opened at eight!” hissed an elderly woman, who looked disturbingly like Elsa on The Real Housewives of Miami. The employee shrugged. It wasn't her fault.

We had been forewarned, but we hunted for leftovers anyway. Empty shoe boxes littered the floor. The apparel racks were stripped, save for five hideous coats that not even a Missoni label could get people to buy. And because Target sprinkled the collection throughout the departments on different floors, crazy-eyed ladies of discerning taste paced up and down the aisles like they were on a treasure hunt. It was all very undignified.

As I placed my consolation prize — 99-cent wine bottle gift bags, not Missoni — on the check-out conveyor belt,  I noticed a few mothers flaunting the vibrant colored miniature booty in their carts behind me: Missoni baby onesies, little girl jumpers, itty bitty mary janes. As I bitterly shook my head — Fashion wasted on the youth! — I spotted my very own zigzagged treasure out of the corner of my eye, waded up in the gum and mints display.

I was the proud beneficiary of some earlier shopper's castaways: a Missoni knitted beanie and matching long gloves. Do I need them? Of course not. Did I buy them anyway? Absolutely.

[This post was also published on CultureMap Houston.]

Creative Friday: 100 Years/Style/East London

Okay, so it's a short film commemorating the grand opening of a mall. But I like to think of it as:

An Ode to the Costume Designers of the World.

Directed by: Jake Lunt with The Viral Factory/ Music by: Tristin Norwell/ Brought to my attention by: my GF Elisabeth on her Facebook status update.

Dumped at the Dentist

click photo to go to: Rosy Lemmons.com

I love going to the dentist: eavesdropping on the front desk ladies, flipping through as many magazines as possible, lying back in the cushiony chair, meditating on the calming posters taped to the ceiling, inspecting the colorful smattering of teeth gook on the sky blue bib. Mint Fluoride? Cherry? Well, Pam, I think it’s a Cookies and Cream kind of day. You’re an expert flosser. Why thank you. See you in six months!

But, today, I was in the chair, bib over shirt, (bring on Mr. Thirsty straw), when…I got sent away. Banish'ed.

“Has anything changed since we last saw you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I had this tumor…dainty scar, right?...”

"Oh no. Then we can't see you. We'll have to reschedule..."

Apparently, it’s common knowledge that if you have a major surgery where they put “foreign objects” in your “body”, you can’t just show up to a teeth cleaning like a normal human being. If I had heard this before, I probably squirreled it away to be recalled in forty years after a hip replacement. 

So, now, I need my surgeon to fax a note stating whether it’s okay to clean my teeth, or if I need to be put on antibiotics first.

If you tell a GUY that he’s got to take antibiotics, he’s annoyed because pharmacies are a pain in the ass. You tell a GIRL she's gotta pop antibiotics, here’s how she might spiral:

-Yay! It'll clear up my face.

-I’ll have a really flat stomach for a couple weeks, since it kills all the bacteria in the intestines.

-But then, I’ll get gassy cause it kills all the good bacteria too.

- Yeast infections suck.

-Antibiotics are birth control saboteurs. I could get pregnant. I don't want an antibiotics baby.

It's so not worth being a bloaty, itchy pregnant lady just to get a teeth cleaning.

Creativity Pep Talk: How Important It is in Schools

I was lucky enough to attend a magnet arts elementary school. It fostered an unusual social hierarchy. One where:

The boys who could draw the best were hands down the most crush-worthy.

I wish this held true in the world at large. I'd love to hear a woman on a first date say:

"All this investment banking talk is snoozers...I don't give a shit that your dad has a vineyard. What's your favorite book? (And you can't say The Four Hour Work Week). What's the last song you heard that choked you up? Never mind. Here's a napkin. Draw me something awesome. If it blows me away...if it, at least, hints at an authentic, captivating, sliver of something in you, then, maybe I'll go home with you."

Creativity is empowering. That's why schools need to foster it. At our elementary school, our dance teacher Kat Brown taught us Jerome Robbin's thumb-snapping, air-punching choreography from West Side Story. When she hit the cassette deck, I had the right to express what was surging inside of me using the language of movement. Creativity is also a healthy way for kids to escape. When we painted whiskers on our faces and pounced around the stage as feral cats, it didn't matter what kind of crazy was happening at home, that my new stepbrothers were moving to Chicago. I was a cat. Cat's don't have to deal with custody battles. Macavity's not there...

Of course, the arts bled into our academic courses too, which meant we were more engaged. When we studied the American Revolution--Johnny Tremain, anybody?--I somehow convinced our English teacher Ms. Kelly to let us hold a Revolutionary Ball, kind of like a sock hop for Patriots. About forty kids stood in the cafeteria--in costume--in the middle of a school day, and I taught THE MINUET. God bless Ms. Kelly for encouraging it. 

Many of us ended up back together again when we attended the High School for Performing and Visual Arts. Students tap danced in the halls, lugged cellos up the stairs, spray painted in the parking lot. We were able to explore our art, which made us happier--or at the very least, less suicidal than we would have been at a traditional school. And it also made us more respectful of each other. We knew that everyone there had a talent. Something special. A spark. And there's not a more valuable gift you can give a teenager than permission to express that creative impulse. 

Here's a TED Talks video of Creativity Expert Sir Ken Robinson pontificating on creativity and how some schools kill it.

My favorite quote: 

If you're not prepared to be wrong, you will never come up with anything original.

A Poster for the Classroom

source: nicegirlnotes.com

CultureMap Top Story: Hello Gorgeous! Northern Michigan

Click Image for CultureMap Site

Good Morning America has voted the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore in Michigan the "Most Beautiful Place in America."A couple weeks ago, Traverse City, Mich., was featured in The New York Times travel section. It’s great to see Michigan getting some kudos. I spend all year looking forward to my summer pilgrimage Up North: the sandy beaches, the fireworks, the cherry stands, and the sunsets. It’s the bee’s knees. If you are lucky enough to spend a day in Northern Michigan, here are my suggestions...

Click to read more ...

Creativity Pep Talk from my Man: Ira Glass

via EtsyNobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.

—     Ira Glass

Paparazzi

One major downside of living in Los Angeles: the paparazzi. They're pesky...They're everywhere...And they won't pay any attention to me.

ellieinla.com

Here are a few loitering outside my gym. They're waiting for a sweaty actress to come out. I ask their permission before taking this photo. It feels stupid to ask. It feels like asking a kleptomaniac permission to borrow his pen. But I ask because I'm a polite Southern girl. And because I'm scared they might attack me. They say yes and pose. Look at their big grins. Such hams!

Razzi: Give me your business card. I'll email you photos of [actress' name] that I can't use.

Ellie: I'd rather stare at pictures of myself. 

Razzi: For your blog. For free. 

Ellie: No thanks. But have a super nice day stalking!

ONE DAY

The film adaptation of ONE DAY is in theaters. I know this because:

-Anne Hathaway's rap on Conan O'Brien has been replayed ad nauseum. 

-Every time I listen to music on Pandora.com, Anne Hathaway interrupts to tell me to go see One Day. She swears the ending is poignant. I think it's a sign that I should stop playing sad sack acoustic music, (I bet people requesting Megadeth don't get Ms. Hathaway),--or--pony up for the ad-free version of the site. 

Here's me trying to convince you to read the book: MY POST ON THE NOVEL ONE DAY

Tweeting to Future Generations

A girlfriend told me that before she tweets, she poses the question: What will my great-great grandchildren think? This question might seem bizarre, except for the fact that the Library of Congress is archiving our tweets. The New York Times explains here. 

I'm not that concerned about the fruit of my loins judging me. But sometimes I'll pose the question: How much will this upset my father? (My mother has learned to roll with my punches. Nothing I say shocks her anymore. It's kind of annoying. Plus, she's not on twitter.). 

After I tweeted this...

My Dad called. "Ellie, why are you tweeting about gass?"

"I was yelling up the staircase to the Husb. No response. And then, I heard this little toot. And I realized that if I could hear that, he could hear me."

"Ugh. Now, people are going to look at your husband and think: Farter." 

Another time, my Dad said, "I don't care about all this minutia you people post on Twitter. I unfollowed Lance Armstrong cause he'd never shut up. You're lucky I still follow you. I mean, I broke it off with LANCE ARMSTRONG."

I have some friends obsessed with Ancestry.com. They'll dig up who was on what boat, who fought on what side of the Civil War, who married his cousin. It's weird to think that future generations will be able to dig up our twitter feed. 

What would I want to tweet to my great-great grandchildren? 

• That little dog in all the old photos is Chubs, the best dog that ever lived. 
• If you lose my wedding ring in a nasty divorce, I'm rolling over in my grave.
• Your great-great grandfather was not a "Farter". He was a great man. And our marriage worked cause he learned to tune me out. 
• Sorry about the environment. At least I recycled. 
• And I apologize for not setting you up with a trust fund.