Martial Arts & Crafts

Let's talk about my recent crafting failures, shall we?

So when searching online for wedding items and ideas, I discovered these beautiful, absolutely blinged the fuck out, bridal bouquets:

And goddammit if I didn't decide I wanted one.  But if you click through any of the links, you'll see they are not cheap.  I think the least expensive one I found was still over $200.  For one small bridal bouquet.  Matching bridesmaid bouquets, boutonnieres, etc. are a whole different story.

So I kept searching, and stumbled across several different DIY videos to make your own "brooch bouquet" as these are apparently called.  There are even some kits out there with the materials to make your own.  I watched about five such videos before deciding I would give this a try (with just a small bouquet) to see if I could do it myself.  And in true Leonard fashion, I sort of took the elements I liked from the various videos to see if I could piece them together.

One video involved painting the styrofoam half sphere and covering it with glitter first. And it's literally a brooch bouquet.  She glues brooches onto the foam -- and also includes feathers! One video involves gluing satin flowers all over, and then adding the bling on top.  And yet another has you put the bling into the center of the artificial flower with floral wire and stick them into the styrofoam.

With the all satin flowers, I didn't like how it looked; it was too symmetrical, the flowers all look the same.  And I definitely didn't want the "just brooches" bouquet, and the added feathers -- well, this isn't The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.  Also, two of the three video involved using a wooden dowel (wrapped in ribbon) as the handle; the third uses an actual floral bouquet handle and bouquet collar.

Fail #1:  Measurements

Math is hard, y'all.  The all-glitter-and-feather-and-brooches bouquet used a 5" diameter styrofoam sphere.  Most of the others are in the 8" range.  I wanted to start small to practice, so I tried to find the 5" foam.  But I couldn't.  Plus, all the measurements were weird.  They didn't say "5 inches."  They said things like "1.9 in. by 3.8 in."  What does that even mean??  But that seemed close to five inches?  So I ordered it.  And I laughed at how wee it was when it arrived.

Please insert your own joke about how women can't measure because men say "this" is six inches here.

But that wasn't all.  The wooden dowels, while actually 7" long (heh), were only 0.5" in diameter instead of one inch.....but they actually worked with the teeny styrofoam ball.

And last but not least, these bits of bling.  One of the videos showed gluing rhinestones, etc. to cover any extra space that the flowers didn't cover, so I bought some.  Or so I thought.

Here's what I got:

Can you tell? They’re really, really tiny. 

So we're off to a rocky start, but it's okay 'cause it's just practice! (Right?)

Fail #2:  Ribbon Twirling

I attempted to cover my wooden dowel with ribbon.  The ribbon is slightly smaller in width than in the videos, I think (another measurement fail); some videos have you cover the dowel with ribbon first, and then glue to the styrofoam; others attach the dowel, then cover it.  I went with the former, and as you can see, my ribbon twirling skills need some work:

It shouldn’t be lumpy like that. And this is before the next fail. 

Fail #3: The Glue Gun Won

When gluing my (poorly) beribboned dowel to the styrofoam, things took a horrible, horrible turn.  The glitter & feather video said to use a ridiculous amount of glue.  Okay, fine, so I did.  And when I inserted the dowel, some of the glue squished out.  And my brain said, "You just should spread that around a bit, evenly."  So I stuck my right index finger directly into the mess of hot glue.  And then the screaming began.

I don't know why I did it! It made sense at the time!!!

And I must have touched my finger to my thumb in an attempt to get the glue off because the pads of both digits ended up with second degree burns (they're still healing now, two weeks later).  I could only yell, "HOT! HOT! HOT!" and run, crying, to the kitchen sink to thrust my fingers under cold running water.  Le Fiancé asked, "Oh no, did you accidentally touch the metal tip of the glue gun?"  But I couldn't make words, let alone explain to him that it was so much worse than that.  And I had to peel the drying glue off of both fingers (under the running water) and hope it wasn't also taking skin with it. There was much sobbing and bawling in pain and frustration.  That night was one of the longest, most painful I'd ever spent.  Just searing, burning, screaming pain radiating from my finger and thumb, especially if I moved them away from the ice pack (wrapped in a towel) I was clutching. 

Here's the thing:  this is not my first time using a glue gun.  I grew up with a mother who was sewing and crafting constantly, and I crafted the shit out of some stuff in the 80s and 90s, most of which involved using a glue gun.  But clearly my brain had forgotten some key elements.

Fun fact:  this is also not my first major burn on my dominant hand.  In 8th grade, I had left my curling iron plugged in for about 4 hours and at the time, had the very bad habit of picking it up by the rod.  So I picked it up, seared my right hand, dropped it (almost burning my foot), and ran to the bathroom to again plunge my hand into cold water.  I had second degree burns with blisters on every "section" of each finger and my thumb and all over my palm.  That night was probably the first night of "I'm in so much pain I can't even sleep" that I've had.  At least this most recent time, as an adult, I could self-medicate (and I did!).

Needless to say, I took some time away from this project for a couple of days.  When I plugged the glue gun back in again, I

1. alerted Le Fiancé so he could be on standby.
2. made sure to turn it to "Low."  (It had previously been on "high."  It only has two settings, and no On/Off switch.)

...which brings us to the next fail.

Fail #4:  Flower Power

I don't want to say I bought the wrong flowers, because I don't think I did.  I bought these flowers by Ling's Moment, and let me tell you, they are beautiful.  However, they are not the silk type flowers you find at your local craft store.  They are more like foam, sometimes called "real touch" because they do feel velvety, more like the real thing.  And the colors in her "Vintage Blush" collection that I purchased were 90% spot-on (the dark "dusty rose" color isn't really in my palette).

But, with DIY Tutorial #3, where we put the brooches in center of some of the flowers, you have to be able to pop off the plastic stem and then thread the floral wire through the flower.  With foam flowers, well, it doesn't quite work that way.  They're better made than your typical craft store flowers, so the stems don't just "pop off."  And 26 gauge floral wire is a bit too delicate to just shove into the foam flower and hope it comes out the other side (trust me, I tried).  The wire just starts to curl and bend (rather nicely, I might add) under the pressure.

So I was a little "stuck."  My thought process was to then buy some cheap craft store flowers to try the process again and sort of see what happens.  I did glue some of my brooches directly on top of the foam flowers, and it looked okay.  But I didn't want to do that for the whole bouquet, practice or no.  Speaking of the brooches...

Fail #5:  All Your Brooches Are Belong to Me

I bought two different packages of rose gold brooches from Amazon, and I made sure they were in different sizes.  Visually, you don't want everything to look the same, y'know?  You need to break up sizes and shapes otherwise it just looks off.  Not that we expect anyone to think these flowers or this bouquet is "real," but you also don't want it to look like it was purchased at a 1980's craft fair.  (And believe you me, I went to a lot of those.  A LOT.  So many crocheted Barbie outfits!)

And yes, while the packages had two different sized brooches, they were nearly all the same shape.  Not 100% identical, mind you, but not enough difference in shape and style.  At first glance, the eye thinks they're all the same.  I kept referring back to the pictures of the professional bouquets (like the ones I shared above, plus others) to identify what I liked about those and how mine was different.  And being able to have different shapes/types of brooches and other bling was a big part of that.

So now the plan was to buy more fake flowers, more brooches, more wooden dowels, possibly a bouquet holder if I could find one.  The Muppet Man patiently went with me to the Dollar Store and Michael's to pursue my craft extravaganza.  He's even gotten proficient at finding items in the right color scheme; I'm so proud.

Now let's look at all of my failures put together!

This is actually the 2nd attempt at this practice bouquet.  Because so many of the flowers previously were just stuck into the styrofoam (no glue), I was able to take them out and reuse them, rearrange them, et cetera.

I've numbered the specific places of fail for your convenience.

1. Wonky ribbon (previously mentioned)
2. Exposed styrofoam and some wires. 
3. More ribbon failures (this time trying to put it along the edge of the half sphere).
4. A blank spot?  Let's just stick another happy li'l brooch right in there:
5. Pearls.  I didn't even talk about the pearls in the main list of fails!  But they weren't what I expected, so I tried to "sprinkle" them on this rose.  It didn't work out exactly.  (And you can see the glue).
   

   
   
6. through 8.  These aren't mistakes.  But because I'm me, I decided to add several other (larger) pink pearls like pretty little clitorises because why not?
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   

The Cost of Failure

How much has all of this cost?  Wasn't doing it myself supposed to be cheaper than buying?  I mean, yes, mostly cheaper.  But also a bit more fun (minus the second degree burns and shame) and also a way to be sure to get exactly what I want in terms of color and shape and other details.  But for actual cold hard cash, right now I've spent $216.54.  And that's including supplies to make a second (real) bouquet, some extra items we purchased while at the Dollar Store and Michael's (unrelated to this project), and the fact that I currently have enough materials to try my hand at making my own boutonnieres and corsages for the wedding party and parents (pictures below).  And that's still less (by four dollars) than the cheapest premade bling bouquet I found online.  And I know this because I have it all written down in my Wedding Spreadsheet (maniacal laughter).

Twilight Terror/Between Dog & Wolf

 I am afraid of the not-dark.

I have long struggled with anxiety around a certain time of day.  It took me many years to even realize it was happening, that there was a sort of pattern; I just thought I didn't like running errands in the late afternoon.

Which brings up another reason why it was hard to pin down:  it's not just the late afternoon.  It's not a time period as in "4 to 6 p.m.," but it's close.  Maybe it's better if I try to describe it by season.

In the winter:  it is late afternoonish, but the sun is still out.  In fact, it glints off the snow in such a way that the reflections seems to hit you directly in the third eye, causing an instant (stabbing) headache.  It's freezing outside, so you're wearing your winter gear, but you are also too hot:  sweating and stuffy inside your layers, both too cold and too hot.  The sun in too bright; the snow is too bright.  And no matter which direction you're headed in traffic, it's always rush hour, and it all hits you directly in the face.

In the summer and fall:  the sun is orange and of course it's hot.  You're stuck in your car for hours, but it never seems to cool off, despite the A/C.  This is the one that really gets me; I can't explain the terror, the throat-closing, dry-mouth-swallowing that accompanies the orange sky.

And you're probably saying to yourself, "That doesn't seem like anxiety.  That sounds like headaches and road rage and your body trying to regulate its temperature."  And you're not wrong.  These are all physical manifestations associated with my twilight terror.

But it's not just when I'm out and about between 2 and 4 or 4 and 6 (depending on the season).

I could be home in my climate-controlled penthouse, and I can still feel the anxiety crawl up my throat like bile.  I will close the curtains to get rid of those headache-inducing slants of sunlight, no matter the season, no matter if they're white or orange.

I will wander aimlessly across the three or four rooms, unsure of what to do with myself.  It doesn't feel "safe" (whatever that means) to sit for too long or to try to start (or work on) a project.  I can't focus; I won't let myself focus lest I stop paying attention to everything else.

For a while (several years or months), I thought I figured it out:  I usually had to be at rehearsal in the evening.  So those few hours in between work and other work (the theatre) were all I had to transition between.  Time for driving, changing clothes, eating food, saying hi and bye to the spouse, then leaving again.

Right?  That must be it.

And even though I like rehearsal (90% of the time; the experiences that make up the 10% are stories for another book), it is still hard to extract myself from home and leave out into the world again.  But it makes sense that I would feel unsettled; can't fully relax when you have to get up and go again.  Can't immerse yourself in another activity lest you lose track of time and end up late (my anxiety over being late is another entry entirely).

Except.

Except...it happens when there is no rehearsal.  It happens when there is absolutely nothing on the calendar (like during a pandemic).  I have to remind myself to breathe.  I have to literally tell myself that's there's nowhere I have to be.  But I still can't settle.  I am still nervous inside my own skin.

And I'm pretty sure I've always disliked this time of day/late afternoon/early evening, long before the days of rehearsals or dinners or evening plans.  Even as far back as 7 p.m. bedtimes and blankies and footie pajamas.

So the other day I watched In & Of Itself on Hulu.  I do recommend watching it; although, I don't want to overhype it (like I feel was done to me).  Many people say it's "indescribable."  I think it's more accurate to say it's difficult to categorize.  If there's a place where theatre, illusion, performance art, and therapy all intersect, In & Of Itself lives there.

The following is NOT a spoiler.

During his one-man show, Derek DelGaudio says there is a certain time of day, when the sun is at a certain point in the horizon, that used to be called "the time between dog and wolf."  The phrase means, because of the direction of the sun, you can't tell the difference between a dog and a wolf (or a friend and an enemy).  And that struck a deep chord within me.  The "golden hour" as DelGaudio said photographers call it (although it's about two hours) sounded exactly like my twilight terror.

And I then wondered that perhaps "my" anxiety isn't "me" at all.  Maybe there's not some triggering event in my past (that I've conveniently forgotten) to explain my daily dread.

Maybe, just maybe, it's something deeper, more primal, than that.  The recognition I felt listening to DelGaudio describe the time between dog and wolf certainly felt primal, almost visceral.  Maybe it's some kind of genetic memory related to the time between dog and wolf.  Some remaining piece of collective memory passed down that says, "This time is dangerous; be careful.  Be on your guard."  Some small piece of genetic material that doesn't know it's the 21st century and is still trying to propel my body to safety by telling my brain to be on high alert until the sunlight changes.

And that's a fascinating idea.  Not only is it fascinating, but it takes the burden off of me.  It isn't "my" anxiety because it's not anxiety at all but a relic of human beings long ago.  It was normal and meant to keep them safe.  Mine is just working overtime by a couple of centuries. Or a few millennia.

InstaPot Beef Stew Recipe

 I got a new recipe for ya!  Well, a version of an existing recipe; I cannot take full credit (hell, I can't even take half credit).  This is what I did with The Salty Marshmallow's Best Ever Instant Pot Beef Stew.  The Salty Marshmallow says explicitly in her recipe that it makes "exactly four servings."  As I'm trying to feed 3 adults for at least two meals (one dinner, one set of leftovers), that wasn't going to work.  So I decided to double the recipe.

But when the Muppet Man came back from the store, he had purchased 2 lbs. of stew meat instead of 3 lbs.  And then I realized that I had only asked for 1 can of tomato sauce instead of two.  But then I also realized that the original recipe said "one 10 oz. can of tomato sauce," and we had one can of 15 ounces.  (dramatic sound cue)  Long story short (too late!), I ended up making 1.5x the original recipe, and it's a good thing, too!  A fully doubled recipe will not fit into a standard 6-quart InstaPot.  I was right at the line for pressure cooking as it was.

So here's what I used/did:

1.5 Recipe of Best Ever Instant Pot Beef Stew

• 2 lbs. beef stew meat
• 2 tbsp. olive oil
• 1.5 tsp of salt
• 1.5 tsp of pepper*
• 1.5 tsp of Italian seasoning
• 3 tbsp. of Worcestershire sauce
• 4-5 cloves of garlic, pressed
• 2 small onions (conversely, you could use 1.5 large onions)
• Approximately 1 pound of carrots, peeled and sliced (let's be honest: I wasn't really measuring the veggies at this point, and for that I apologize)
• Approximately 4 (maybe 5?) golden potatoes, cubed  (again, I'm sorry)
• 2 celery stalks, sliced
• 4 cups beef broth
• 1 bay leaf
• 1 15 oz. can of tomato sauce
• 2 tbsp. cornstarch
• 2 tbsp. cold water

Directions:

1. Put 2 tbsp. of olive into the InstaPot and turn on the Sauté function.
2. When oil is hot, add the garlic and onions and sauté for 1-2 minutes.
3. Then add the 2 lbs. beef stew meat to attempt to sear the beef.  I say "attempt" because the beef won't all be on the bottom of the pot at the same time; you'll need to stir.
• Add the salt, pepper, and Italian seasoning right after you add the beef.
• Continue to sauté/sear (whilst stirring) for approximately 5 minutes.
4. Turn off the Sauté setting.
5. Add 4 cups of beef broth to the pot, and use a wooden spoon (or your preferred implement) to scrap up any browned bits from the pot (basically, deglaze).
6. Add the carrots, potatoes, celery, tomato sauce, and bay leaf to the pot and give it another stir or two for good measure.
7. Close the InstaPot lid use the Pressure Cook setting for 35 minutes.
8. Allow pressure to naturally release for 10 minutes before pressing the Quick Release button.
9. Be careful when you take off the lid!  The liquid will be boiling.
10. Mix together the cornstarch and cold water (make a slurry) then add to the still-hot stew to slightly thicken.
11. Remove the bay leaf at any time.
12. Eat the yumminess.

*My sister claims (and I partially agree) that this was very "peppery."  Next time, I may only use 1 tsp. of ground black pepper, perhaps less.

We didn't have any at the time, but I bet some biscuits would go great with this stew.

Kitty Biscuit Print by Kim Parkurst via Etsy

Chicken Pot Pie Soup Recipe

 It is exactly like it sounds, friends:  chicken pot pie, but in soup form.  The original recipe is from Six Clever Sisters and includes a recipe for adorable looking "Flaky Pie Crust Leaves" which I absolutely did not make because I'm lazy.  I "made" some Pillsbury Grands biscuits instead.  Her (their?) recipe is below, with my edits & notes in italicized bold.

Word of caution:  this is not a recipe for when you're in a hurry.  I think from start to finish, including cooking (and "cubing") the chicken breasts to scooping the soup into my bowl, this took me about two hours.  But I had plenty of time.

You Will Need:

• 3 12 oz. packages of frozen mixed vegetables (I used 2 16 oz. packages because math.)
• 2/3 cup margarine (I used butter; does anyone use margarine anymore?)
• 2/3 cup flour
• 1 cup diced onion
• 1 tsp. salt
• 1/2 tsp. black pepper
• 1/2 tsp. Herbs de Provence
• 1/2 tsp. dried parsley
• 4 cups chicken broth
• 3 cups milk
• 1 1/2 lbs. boneless skinless cooked chicken breast, cubed (I used 3 breasts because who has a scale to measure?  Approximately three cups' worth.  I cooked them from frozen in the InstaPot with some salt and pepper and poultry seasoning.  If your cooked chicken is unseasoned, you might add 1 tsp. poultry seasoning to the soup itself.)
• 3 tbsp. cornstarch (I only used 1 tbsp.  More on that later.)

Instructions:

1. Rinse frozen vegetables in cold water to separate; drain.
2. Melt margarine in large “soup pan” over medium heat. (This is a one pot recipe, so make sure your pot will be able to hold 10 cups of soup).
• I worried about this note from Six Clever Sisters, so I used the Googles and did some math.  If you have a six-quart stock pot/soup pan, you'll be fine; six liquid quarts equals 24 US cups.)
3. Stir in flour, onion, salt, and pepper. Cook, stirring constantly, until mixture is bubbly; remove from heat.
• (How can a mixture that is pretty much a paste -- the beginnings of a roux [equal parts flour and melted butter] -- get "bubbly"?  It doesn't, not like a liquid would. I kept stirring until it was sort of bubbly/sizzly from the heat on the bottom, then continued on.)
4. Stir in broth and milk. Heat to boiling, stirring constantly. 
• (I think I should have turned up the heat to medium high here, and this part wouldn't have taken quite so long.)
5. Boil and stir 1-2 minutes, until thickened. Stir in chicken and vegetables. Simmer until mixture starts to boil.
• (This is where I tasted it and decided I wanted a tad more seasoning, so I add the 1/2 teaspoons each of Herbs de Provence and parsley, and I don't regret it.  A person could maybe even do a full teaspoon of each.)
6. Mix cornstarch with a little cold water until blended. Slowly add to soup while stirring. Boil until desired thickness is achieved. (For a thinner soup, use less cornstarch; for a thicker soup, use a little more.)
• (My soup was plenty thick for my taste at this time, so I only used 1 tbsp. of cornstarch with some water and stirred it in.  Also, the soup will continue to thicken a bit as it cooks in the next step.  And your leftovers the next day will be SUPER thick when you go to reheat, FYI).
7. Reduce heat to low-medium and let cook for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. 
• (This is where I turned on my oven for the Pillsbury rolls and baked them; the timing was almost spot-on, if I do say so myself.)
8. Optional: Add 1/4-1/2 cup half and half for extra creaminess.  (I didn't do this.)

We ate it with the biscuits, and it was fucking delicious.  The Muppet Man even mentioned something about wanting to "put a ring on it" if I continue to make this soup.  Eat and enjoy.  Your stomach will thank me, even if your waistline won't.

No kittehs were involved in this recipe.

Chicken Tortilla Soup Recipe

 OMG YOU GUYS!  I made chicken tortilla soup last night for the first time EVER, and it was fucking delicious!  This is a big deal for me; however, I refuse to become one of those food bloggers where you have to read their whole damn life story before getting to the recipe.  So recipe first!  I'll write separately about my cooking baggage.

This is a combination of these two recipes:  Delish's "Best Instant Pot Chicken Tortilla Soup" and Spend With Pennies' Chicken Tortilla Soup.  Comments on the former said it was too watery and bland, but I wanted to use my new InstaPot, so I combined the best parts of both (and I don't like improvising!).  If you don't have an InstaPot, I would just follow Spend With Pennies' recipe; I imagine you'll get a similarly delicious result.  So here we go.

You'll need:

• 2 large chicken breasts, thawed
• 2 tbsp. olive oil
• 2 bell peppers, chopped
• 1 poblano pepper, chopped
• 1 onion, chopped
• 3 cloves of garlic, minced
• 1 tsp. ground cumin
• 1 tsp. chili powder
• 1 tsp. oregano
• Salt & Pepper to taste
• 3 cups chicken broth
• 1 (14 oz.) can of crushed or diced tomatoes
• 1 can of diced tomatoes with chilis (like Rotel)
• 1 (14 oz.) can of black beans, drained
• 1 cup corn, drained if canned (I had a small can and used the whole thing, didn't measure)
• Juice from one lime
• 1/4 cup cilantro, chopped

Optional for garnish/serving:

• Tortilla strips -- both of the recipes above include instructions on how to make your own crispy tortilla strips (one baked, one fried). You can also use tortilla chips.  We happen to love these chili lime tortilla strips made by Texas Toast (they're also excellent on salads).
• 1 avocado, sliced (I didn't do this)
• Additional cilantro (I didn't do this)
• Shredded Monterey Jack cheese (I didn't do this)

Instructions:

1. Turn InstaPot to Saute setting and heat the 2 tbsp. of olive oil.  When oil is hot (shimmering), add all peppers and onions.  Saute until veggies start to soften (5 minutes), stirring occasionally.
2. While onions and peppers are cooking, generously salt & pepper your chicken breasts.  Also make sure your canned items are opened, drained where necessary.
3. After 5 minutes of sauteing, stir in the garlic, oregano, cumin, and chili powder.
4. Add the salt & peppered chicken breasts to the pot.
5. Add these ingredients to the pot:  chicken broth, lime juice, both cans of tomatoes, black beans, and corn.
6. Close lid and set InstaPot to Soup setting; set the timer for 7 minutes.
7. When the InstaPot cooking has completed AND the air has been naturally released (don't use the quick release option), open the lid (carefully) and, using tongs, remove the two chicken breasts onto a plate or cutting board.  Shred the chicken (using two forks, or a fork and knife, or this weirdly efficient way using an electric mixer).
8. Stir shredded chicken and 1/4 cup cilantro back into the soup pot.
9. Serve!  Eat!  Enjoy!

I will be eating some of my leftovers today for lunch.  If you want some additional texture, you can stir cooked rice into your bowl with the soup (the Muppet Man did and greatly enjoyed it).

Letter to My Family

 This email has already been sent, but I want to record this for posterity.

Hello family!

I have a favor to ask of you.  I try not to get into "political discussions" with y'all as it's too upsetting, but now I have to ask for a favor.

If you plan on voting for the person currently in the Oval Office, whether for the first or second time, come November, please, please, please, do me a favor and delete my contact info from all of your sources.  I can no longer in good conscience remain in contact with people who vote to actively hurt me.

I won't be entertaining replies to this email, as I have no desire to discuss my humanity as some "political debate."  As I said to my father (one of the last things I said to him, actually), these are not abstract political ideas that I have the privilege of debating at a distance; they are very real, concrete items that affect and impact my everyday life.

I'm also not trying to change anyone's mind as I imagine we've all pretty much decided what we're going to do.  If you're unable to see the irreparable harm being done to me and the hundreds of thousands of people just like me -- women, women with uteruses, women who've been sexually assaulted, LGBTQ people -- then it's just willful ignorance at this point, and nothing I say will make a difference.

If you're not planning on voting for the person currently occupying the Oval Office, whether for the first or second time, THANK YOU!  And I'll see you on the other side of this election.

To everyone else, thank you in advance for doing me this favor.  And bonne chance in this dystopian hellscape you've helped to create.

Your daughter/niece/cousin/token feminist and queer person,

Only my mother has replied (even though it said I won't be entertaining replies) because she often feels like rules don't apply to her.  Her first response was to say "very nicely worded."  And her second was to tell me that "voting is a private matter" and that I "need to toughen up more."

In other news, no need to drive up to Iowa for Christmas.  Or ever. 

The Address (Book Review)

The Address by Fiona Davis
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

While The Lions of Fifth Avenue has the better title, The Address may have the better plot. While I definitely appreciated all of the facts about the New York City Public Library in the former, I was often distracted by what I felt were inconsistencies in the historical settings; by contrast, The Address doesn't seem to offer up nearly as many factoids, but the timelines are spot on.

One may consider Davis' novels to be a bit formulaic: two women on two different ends of history, one (real) historic building connecting them, with a mystery across decades/centuries to solve. So far, though, the mysteries are not the same, and The Address provided some extra twists that I did not anticipate. And everyone knows it's the above formula that counts, it's the "how" -- how we get there, how the stories connect, etc. Davis seems to have that aspect well in hand.

As with Lions, The Address has an undercurrent of (much appreciated and respected) feminism throughout, much subtler, actually. And she deals with classism as well.
I also like that her main characters are well-rounded. 

**SPOILER**

When we get to the final reveal, our villain isn't a villain with one huge deep dark secret that drops like a bomb; it's a series of "smaller" items that add up to make him not the person we thought he was. I don't think he's 100% bad in way that would seem cliche or stereotypical; that might feel anticlimactic to readers, but I appreciate the nuance.

This novel doesn't exactly have a happy ending; it's far more tragic than The Lions of Fifth Avenue, in my opinion.

I've borrowed Davis' other novels from my local library, and at least one of them does not deal with two women on opposite ends of the century; it will be interesting to see how Davis deals with the shorter timeline(s).

View all my reviews

The Lions of Fifth Avenue (Book Review)

The Lions of Fifth Avenue by Fiona Davis
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

If you enjoyed A Gentleman in Moscow , you may well enjoy this book as well, with its strong sense of place, both historically and physically with the main building involved. In many ways, The Lions of Fifth Avenue is what I wanted Donna Tartt's The Goldfinch to be: pieces of historical fiction with an art mystery at the center (and no whiny white boy with mommy issues just making the same mistakes over and over again -- can you tell I did not care for The Goldfinch?).

Fiona Davis does extensive research on the buildings in which she places her research, and it shows. I continue to say it's the mark of a good piece of historical fiction when I want to do more research afterward, to see what's "true" and what isn't, to learn about the subject matter. And Davis has done that here; I know more about the New York Public Library than just that it's featured in Ghostbusters, and now I really want to visit it if I ever get back to New York again.

My quibbles are just that --small and probably trivial, but here are they are nonetheless:

**CONTAINS SPOILERS**

• I nearly wanted it to be longer as I finished it in a day.
• I sometimes questioned the math regarding the ages and relationships of our two main women, Laura Lyons and Sadie Donovan. I would have expected at least one more generation in between them. If Sadie is 43 during the "present day" (1993) pieces, that means she was born in 1950. So why does she wear vintage 1950s things when those are the very fashions she grew up with? That would be like me wearing 1980s stuff now, which doesn't seem far enough removed to be "vintage" or "retro," just odd.
• And her brother Lonnie is roughly 10 years older than she is, making him born in 1940 (and a 53-year-old father of a six-year-old girl, still pretty unusual in the 1990s), making their mother (Pearl, age 7 in 1913) 34 when she had Lonnie and 44 when she had Sadie -- that seems a bit of a stretch, especially for a woman in 1940s America.
• Davis may have been better suited to place Sadie & Lonnie about ten years later in time, inserting another generation between the families. I can see why she chose 1993, though, as she doesn't have to deal with the technology of mobile phones, social media, etc., which can make mystery-writing infinitely more complicated.
• Even though I said I nearly wanted the book itself longer, the ending/wrap-ups seemed too long. We like to have things wrapped up, and yes, we wanted to know the specific connection of Robin to the family, but that entire section seemed too long. It was a lot of exposition, particularly about Harry, and I don't think we needed that much detail. We wanted to know the connection, but why he stayed away, etc. -- we could have easily filled in the blanks ourselves. So much guilt and cowardice at the end didn't really benefit anyone, audience or characters. I also found the sentencing at the trial to be a bit sanctimonious and heavy-handed.

I'm pleased to discover that Davis has other similar historical books with mysteries at the center of them, and I'm looking forward to reading them.

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The Other Bennet Sister (Book Review)

The Other Bennet Sister by Janice Hadlow
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

**DNF**

I could not finish this book; it was an effort to get through the 100 pages (only 22% of the book!) that I did. It was simply too sad, too depressing.

After I got through the issue of reconciling what I knew of Mary's character from Pride & Prejudice with Hadlow's "version," there was the much larger issue of this "new" Mary's existence being utterly awful. Hadlow seems to have forgotten that Austen's original work is a comedy; this book is not a comedy but some terrible drama about a lonely, misunderstood girl surrounded by one-dimensional characters. While many of the original Pride & Prejudice characters are intended to be ridiculous, farcical, and/or satirical, Hadlow has made them simply mean.

Remembering that this book does "catch up" to the events of P&P, I forced myself to at least read that far, for curiosity's sake. And while I believe this book extends past the events of P&P to continue with Mary's life, I simply couldn't punish myself any further. I have no idea how it ends, but I couldn't endure Mary's misery any longer.

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The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires (Book Review)

The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires by Grady Hendrix
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

In all fairness to Mr. Hendrix, I should stipulate that my two-star rating has less to do with his writing quality and more to do with the fact that this book was not what I was expecting.
Based on the title and the synopsis, I was expecting something funnier, cleverer, sassier, possibly even sillier. This book is not those things.

I did not expect but did appreciate the feminism, the blasting of 1980s and 90s patriarchy, the acknowledgement of systemic racism and white privilege.

Hendrix lost me at the gore, I suppose. If you are a fan of horror as a genre, you may well enjoy this book and his gruesome turn of phrase. I did not, and a few times considered putting the book down; another point in Hendrix's favor that I did actually finish the novel.

**SPOILER ALERT**

I would also call this "the book of false endings." 

At several different chapters' ends, I expected the next chapter to be a sort of wrap-up, a "where are they now" with our antagonist firmly put in his place with perhaps a smug thought from Patricia and/or her cohorts. That does not happen. The book keeps going, and when the antagonist does finally meet his doom at the hands of the Southern ladies, it is neither clever nor smart nor neatly tied up with a bow; it is, however,...thorough.

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Lady of Devices (Book Review)

Lady of Devices by Shelley Adina
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

FINALLY! A steampunk novel that isn't utter crap! I am wary not only of popular things, but of incredibly prolific authors; for some reason, I am suspicious of authors that can "crank out" so many novels, feeling that the writing quality can't possibly be good or sustained (if it starts out well enough). Also too many fancy covers and promises of steampunk with strong women characters have left me utterly disappointed.

Thanks to Shelley Adina, I can finally put my finger on what was missing from those other novels: the Britishness, the Victorian attitudes and mores and language. It's not enough to simply throw some steam gadgetry at your characters and have them drink tea.
Like Gail Carriger, Adina knows how the classes in Victorian England function, in addition to modes of dress, and how the people sound. Far too often wannabe steampunk novels simply don't sound like Victorian England.

My trepidation when starting this book (this series, really) soon vanished. While the overall story arc was absolutely not what I was expecting, I read the entire novel in one sitting and have already purchased the next three. I hope Adina can maintain this trajectory (and my faith in her writing skills).

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The Jane Austen Society (Book Review)

The Jane Austen Society by Natalie Jenner
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This book is a comfortable read. Not necessarily "comforting," but comfortable, like your favorite jeans or sweater. It's the mark of a good historical piece if it makes me wonder, "Is that true?" or "How close is this to the real thing?", driving me to do some research after reading (or watching). I can save you the trouble, though, as Jenner mentions in her afterword that while the places are real, the characters are not. That's not a bad thing, and I think speaks well for Jenner's writing that I assumed these characters were based, at least a little, on real people.

When discussing Austen, the characters bring up a couple of points of view that I hadn't thought of before or hadn't been taught in academia when studying Austen, so it's always enjoyable to have a different light shown on something. Jenner also (via her characters' discussions) touches on why we re-read Austen (or any piece with which we are intimately familiar); and while I rarely reread books, her sentiment does apply to things I'll rewatch for their comfort. I might pick up and reread some more Austen, too, after reading Jenner's book.

Jenner's allusions to Austen's characters and plots in her own are subtle, not precious or too "on the nose." I like being surprised sometimes, so when I did make a connection, I had that "I should have seen that earlier!" moment, which doesn't happen too often.

Please don't think the entire book is literary analysis because it's not; I just appreciate and gravitate towards those aspects.
This is a comfortable read -- not too taxing, enough Austen for fans, not so light as to be saccharine, but also not something that leaves me needing to know more about these particular characters.

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The Girls With No Names (Book Review)

The Girls with No Names by Serena Burdick
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This was very well-written, although I'm still not entirely sure what to say about it. The tragedies involved are almost Shakespearean with their miscommunication and misinformation. It is a tragedy, but not hopeless, I don't think. Towards the end, I found myself thinking not quite "How are we going to get out of this?" but "How is this going to end in a way that isn't utterly despairing?" But Burdick found a way that was both (mostly) satisfying and still believable within the context of the story.

I read it in under two days, which means it kept my interest the whole time (and that's saying something). The changing point of views in the chapters is well done and not confusing; the same with the changing time periods in the main story timeline. Even as the original "mystery" gets answered, we still want to see how all the different stories come together. The historical aspects feel accurate; also be sure to check out Burdick's afterword as she touches on some important points, including the use of the word "gypsy."

I guess I'm giving it three stars ("I liked it") rather than 4 because I'm unsure what I was supposed to get from it -- other than feminist anger and hatred for organized religion, both of which I already have in spades. It could also be the tragic nature of the stories being told; that's not my usual preference or genre in what I read.

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Snowspelled (Book Review)

Snowspelled by Stephanie Burgis
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This book came recommended from Gail Carriger, whose writing I greatly enjoy, and it was available for free at that particular moment in time.

I enjoyed it for the most part. I particularly like Burgis' feminist take on politics and having a matriarchal society; unfortunately, women are still pigeon-holed, and our brazen protagonist challenges those stereotypes head-on.

My quibbles, I think, mostly have to do with Burgis' writing style. There are several repeated words and phrases (like "cossetted") that could have benefitted from an editor with a thesaurus. "Cossetted" is a good word and definitely appropriate for how it is being used, but it should have been changed up a bit more. Burgis also continually refers to the soft "hiss" sound that the falling snow makes. I grew up in Midwestern winters and have never once heard snow "hiss" -- unless, of course, it was falling on an open flame of some sort. Not only was that bit repetitive, but didn't quite make sense.

Lastly, we continually get reference to whatever traumatic event happened to Cassandra 4 months earlier and she pretty much wanted to commit suicide after. I think that reveal could have come earlier on, as it's a bit anticlimactic where it is; and again, the references to the event (including word choices) grow repetitive to the reader.

I am partially tempted to continue this series as I do enjoy the world Burgis has built, but we shall see.

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The House in the Cerulean Sea (Book Review)

The House in the Cerulean Sea by T.J. Klune
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I loved this book. I really did. I may have been slightly hormonal while reading as I cried (often "happy" tears) throughout the entire thing. I also devoured the book in one sitting. The colorful characters, these poor traumatized children; "found family" is one of my favorite tropes.

I also love that Klune does not pull any punches when it comes to bigotry and prejudices; he makes sure you get the symbolism and allegory right away, unambiguously: "Just because you don’t experience prejudice in your everyday doesn’t stop it from existing for the rest of us.”
For all of those moments (many of which I highlighted in my notes), this is a perfect book for right now in 2020.

I gave it 4 instead of 5 stars for the following reasons:
-despite having queer characters and a lot of nontraditional aspects, the two main (adult) characters are still two white men.
-the Black woman character spends most of her time in the kitchen.
-the Black boy character is a "dog."

I realize that the above are not without nuance when reading the actual story, but I think it's important to also realize how the facts look "on paper," so to speak, without context, when attempting to be diverse and inclusive.

Lastly, Phee seemed to be the least developed character. I would not be surprised if an editor said, "You need more than one girl child character. Put in another one," and this is the result. I say that because in almost any of the given situations, you know the reactions of almost all of the children, where they are, and/or what they are doing (often because they are so unique). Except Phee. There is the one scene with her and Linus and Zoe, but other than that, I feel like she is an afterthought.

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I'm Proud of You

or "Not My Love Language"

You know the 5 Love Languages, don't you?  In short, there are five basics ways we either express love or like to receive love.  They are, in no particular order:

• Physical Touch
• Gift Giving
• Acts of Service
• Quality Time
• Words of Affirmation

You can take a handy-dandy quiz to see how you view them or "what your love language is."  (There's also a book, but I've not read it; I just take the quiz every now and then to see if anything's changed.)  There is no right or wrong love language; it just makes it easier to communicate with your partner if you know the love expressions that are important to them (and vice-versa).  My top love languages are Physical Touch and Gift-Giving, FYI; the other three (Acts of Service, Quality Time, Words of Affirmation) all rank pretty low with me.

Now that that's out of the way, a story:

Last November, I was in rehearsal for a play, as I often.  We were getting close to opening night, and I had texted the boytoy, probably something like "headed home from rehearsal" or maybe even "working from today" or something similarly innocuous.  He texted back -- brace yourselves -- and I quote:  "I'm proud of you."

And reader, I was flabbergasted.  I was nearly speechless -- ME!  That's saying something.  Somewhere in there he also had written, "I know you've been working hard."

I was still mostly stuck on the "I'm proud of you" part, although the combination of the two statements had also given me heart palpitations.  It took me a moment or two verbalize what I was feeling and why I was so shocked.

1. It felt odd for him to be proud of me for doing something that I just do.  Theatre is my thing.  It's what I do.  And while I almost always work hard on whatever production I'm involved with, it isn't often hard for me to do (if that makes sense).
2. Has anyone ever told me they were proud of me for going to rehearsal/doing theatre like I do?  If they have, it was so long ago that I've forgotten it.

So for someone to acknowledge my hard work on what most people regard as "just as a hobby" shook my world a little bit, in a good way, especially when it's a vocation that takes up time I could be spending with him.  It was also a weird feeling because, like I said, Words of Affirmation isn't one of my love languages; in fact, it's probably rated the lowest for me because words are just that.  If you can't back them up with actions, I'm not interested.  But these words didn't feel all that empty, which was a pleasant surprise.

Since that day I've actually started saying "I'm proud of you!" more.  It's still a weird feeling, but in a different way.  But I like when people when they try to learn a new skill or continue to hone their craft or do major work on their mental health or make hard but mature decisions.  Those things should absolutely be encouraged and celebrated. 

I particularly like when people do things outside of their comfort zone; actually, I fucking love that, especially when it comes to working on our art.  I want to clap and cheer sometimes because I know what it feels like to do things that scare me.  And far too often actors/artists just start to rely on their usual "shtick" (whatever it may be) because it's comfortable and has been working tolerably well for so long, rather than pushing their own boundaries.  So I've changed my usual "Good for you!" or "Good on you!" (which I always meant sincerely) to "I'm proud of you!" (which I also mean) because all of the aforementioned things are rarely easy.

I haven't been saying to everyone because then it will possibly lose some meaning.  But all of this leads me to the thought that I may actually be becoming nicer....and that's a terrifying thought.
To quote Margo (The Magicians), "Don't you go accusing me of catching feelings!  It's insulting."

The Magicians - Almost a Review

The Magicians by Lev Grossman
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I did not finish this book. I was curious as to how the written texts were different from the show (which I do watch as a guilty pleasure), but simply not curious enough to keep reading. I'm already bored with Quentin's near-constant teenage horniness for nearly every breathing female that crosses her path. I'm also surprised (don't know why) and depressed by the overwhelming whiteness; characters of color in the TV show are boring ol' Anglo-Saxons in the original text.
Frankly, it became too much work to keep reading, especially when I already know (or at least think I know) what major events are going to happen.

I will say one thing in its favor: author Lev Grossman nails on the head what depression often feels like with this one quote:

"Quentin knew he wasn’t happy. Why not? He had painstakingly assembled all the ingredients of happiness. He had performed all the necessary rituals, spoken the words, lit the candles, made the sacrifices. But happiness, like a disobedient spirit, refused to come."

For now, I'll still to indulging in the TV show as it isn't taxing, and I love Margo's swearing.

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Introspective Valentine's Day Post

I need to write this quickly before my feelings evaporate (I have them so rarely, you see).

Say what you will about Valentine's Day -- it's a made-up holiday, just commercialism, etc. -- I will agree with you.  I also agree that it can be fun if not taken too seriously.  I am also not used to celebrating it.

10.5 years with my former partner, and there were several reasons for the lack of celebrating:

1. Her birthday is also at the end of February
2. Her anniversary with her ex was apparently on Valentine's Day (poor planning, people!)
3. Our anniversary was in mid-December, and we usually didn't get to celebrate it until January or February (if then) due to her work.
4. We were often broke (according to her)

But we mostly said stuff like, "We're adults!  We don't need this stupid holiday!" or "Why spend money we don't have?" after giving each cards the first year or two of being together.  And that was it.  And, like our actual anniversary, it just fell by the wayside, not celebrated, not taking any extra time to appreciate each other, etc.

And that, friends, should always be a sign that things are not going that well.  It's not that Valentine's Day is a super important holiday; it's that if your partner isn't willing to take the time to think about you (on any given holiday or anniversary or at any time), that's problematic.  And it's possible to think about and appreciate your partner without spending a dime.

And that little bit of introspection (as the boytoy is, by all accounts, preparing to go overboard for our first V-Day together), sent me down a bit of a rabbit hole where I am amazed at the crap I put up with for 10.5 years.  Because it wasn't just Valentine's Day.  Or our anniversary.  Or Christmas.

Here's a story for you:

In 2015 I got a job outside of academia, a "real" office job, with a salary and benefits and vacation days.  And it paid about double (annually) what I had ever made as adjunct faculty.  So that was exciting.  So I decided, for my birthday that year, I wanted a tea party.  I had started a Silmarillion read along group, and hobbits love tea (and snacks), so I figured I would just invite those people and some others, not a big thing.

And this was a tea party at a specific place: a tea room here in the city which required a deposit for the party (because they provide tea and all the foods and the room, etc.).  So at first I inquired to see if there was any interest among my reading group and my nerdy friends because not everyone wants to (or can) pay around $20 a person for someone else's birthday.  I get that.  And I think I needed at least a dozen people (minimum reservation).

At any rate, it was going to cost me a couple hundred dollars for the deposit.  And my ex was pretty livid at the idea.  She saw it as a waste of money.  Even though we had extra money now because of my job and it was my birthday dammit; I wanted an actual party, something fun.  She eventually, begrudgingly, "allowed" me to spend the money and plan the tea party, all by myself.

And you know who didn't go to said tea party?  Her.  Because "she had to work."  It was on a Saturday afternoon, and while her job could schedule her to work on almost any day of the week, it's not like it was a last minute work day  Nor was it a last minute tea party; it was planned about a month in advance.

She could have asked off.

She could have said "I have to be done by noon" (or 2 p.m. or whatever fucking time the party was).

She could have made an effort.

But she didn't.  So I had my tea party (complete with fancy hats) and had a lovely time, despite everyone asking where my partner was and me saying, "Oh, she had to work."  No, she didn't have to; she chose to.  

And I put up with bullshit like that for the better part of ten and a half years.  Where I don't think I was ever a priority.  And I went along with it because I was trying to be an adult, because spending money and commercial things don't matter, because "it's just stuff," and "there will be other birthdays" or "other holidays" or what the fuck ever.

In my effort to be mature and to "not be a nag" I let myself also not be made to feel special or important or that someone was randomly thinking of me.  Don't let that happen to you, friends.  And definitely don't let it happen to you for a decade or more.

Toy Story 4 and Tarzan Syndrome

Gonna start at the ending and work my way backward.  So SPOILER ALERT!  If you've not yet seen the 4th installment of the Toy Story franchise, stop reading now.

Okay, you were warned.

Preface:  I knew almost nothing about this 4th Toy Story going in, except that Bo Peep was featured prominently, and that's about it.

When we got to the end, the very end (because, as usual, there are about four false endings as we have to wrap up the smaller storylines, too), when Woody decides to (gasp!) leave his child (Bonnie) to join up with Bo and her sheep, I said, "Whoa!  I didn't expect that!"

And the boytoy said, "Seriously, you didn't see that coming?"

And I had to stop and think for a moment because I'm usually very good at anticipating narrative arcs and supposed "plot twists"; it generally takes a lot for a movie's plot to actually surprise me.  I guess that comes from years of studying and teaching narratives and stories, but I digress.

I think I finally stumbled upon why Woody's decision came as a surprise to me:  because I was focused on Bo Peep.  I was so focused on her story with my inner monologue saying furiously, "Please don't let her rejoin them!  Please don't let her rejoin them!" that I really wasn't paying as much attention to the very obvious layout of Woody's track, including his need for a "purpose" and/or a kid to take care of (established in the very beginning of the film).

I was watching and waiting, hoping against hope that the writers wouldn't have Bo Peep rejoin the toy-kid-family, thereby negating her own personal journey in that way that happens to so many female characters.  I thought Woody would rejoin his family, leave Bo again in a bittersweet moment that showed that she couldn't just go back to her old life (and that was okay). So his move surprised me; plus, it's pretty out of character for Woody who is rather defined by his loyalty to tradition (hello, the plot to the whole first movie).

But Bo Peep's transformation from sweet love interest shepherdess to badass, staff-wielding adventurer also got me thinking, especially when I commented during the film, "Bo's gone feral!"  I shouldn't have said that; "feral" was definitely not the right word.  Instead I should have said, "Bo became a badass!" or even "Bo learned some survival skills!"  Bo is example of what I've decided to call Tarzan Syndrome.

Some things to note right off the bat:

• This shouldn't be confused with Tarzan syndrome for kittens (and why you should adopt more than one at a time), or really with any other actual psychological condition.  We're just talking literary analysis here, folks.
• I'm using Disney's 1999 animated film Tarzan as my base model.

Even if you've not seen the 1999 Disney movie (with music by Phil Collins!), you are hopefully familiar with Tarzan as a story/literary trope:  male human baby is abandoned in the jungle.  He is found by/adopted by/raised by gorillas in the wild and learns to communicate with them/behave like them.  By the time other humans stumble upon Tarzan, he speaks almost no English or other human language, but can interact with wild animals.  Basically, Tarzan is left alone in the wild, and by the time the outside world catches up with him, he has brand new bag of tricks and survival skills.  He's also an adult and somewhat respected leader in his (animal) community.

Bo Peep's transformation in Toy Story 4 is an example of this:  she was abandoned, left, or "lost."  And by the time we (the world at large) "find" her again, she has a whole new badass skill set, many of which seem alien or foreign (or "feral") to us, and she is also in a respected leadership role in her new community (of other lost and/or "wild" toys).

The main difference, though, between Bo and the actual Tarzan story is that we don't get to see Bo's transformation.  Tarzan's story is just that:  his story.  And the Toy Story franchises are generally Woody's (and sometimes Buzz's) stories.  Even in this movie where Bo is featured prominently, her transformation and journey are relegated to a brief flashback and some exposition.  We don't get to see it; we don't see her "origin story" (if you wanna put it superhero movie terms).

Bo Peep is just one in a list of "strong female characters" in (mostly) film that have Tarzan syndrome (patent pending).  Here's an incomplete/in-progress list that's been playing through my head:

• Janet Van Dyne (Michelle Pfeiffer) in Ant-Man and the Wasp (2018)
• Atlanna (Nicole Kidman) in Aquaman (2018)
• Princess Leia's transformation to General Organa is almost a contender for her inclusion on this list, but not quite as no one thought she was dead; time just passed, and we were presented with her new self in Episode VII.  She does (very briefly) have her time in "the wild."  It's called Endor, and the Ewoks are like tiny gorillas.
• Rey in Star Wars:  The Force Awakens is almost a Tarzan, except that we do get to witness her part of her story and transformation (which is why it's probably my favorite Star Wars movie, with Episode VIII in 2nd place).

Jodie Foster as Nell, Amy Acker as Fred in Angel, I would contend, are not Tarzans because they do not (initially) come back as bad-asses.  They come back (or are discovered) broken, for lack of a better word.  Fred eventually overcomes most of her trauma and becomes a functioning member of Team Angel (and then Illyria happens, but that's a different piece of analysis entirely).  I haven't watched Nell in I don't know how many years, so I can't comment on her outcome.

An argument could almost be made for Catwoman in 1992's Batman Returns (there's Michelle Pfeiffer again!), except there are too many slight perversions on the list of requirements to put her in the category (she isn't "lost"; she's pushed out a window; she doesn't learn a new skill set so much as get some supernatural cat reflexes and characteristics; we do see her transformation). 

One of the defining Tarzan Syndrome traits (since I've just decided that it's a thing) is that we don't get to see these women's transformations, and that's bad.  Sadly, most of these characters are relegated to the sidelines; their discovery and re-entrance into the world is a secondary (or even tertiary) storyline to the lead (usually cishet white male) character's story and development.  The women attain an almost mythical quality because they were gone (often presumed dead), and simply reappear, years later, as badasses.  When we do get to see their stories (female buildingsroman, anyone?), some of the mythos is lost because we can see it happening.  We get depth and details, and in exchange we lose a bit of mythical hero.  And I'm okay with that.  

We should be telling those stories, with their sweat and grit and hard fucking work (I mean, can you imagine the sheer trauma Janet Van Dyne endured living ALONE in the quantum realm for decades?!?!), and not just because those stories often involve awesome "getting ready" montages (I fucking love a good montage, and even not-so-good ones).  And we still get badasses when we tell the stories and see what went into creating the heroine we see:  please see Captain Marvel (2019), Wonder Woman (2017), Rey in Star Wars, and nearly every woman who has had to recreate herself after being abandoned.

Hard

This week has been hard; there's no two ways about it.  I've been feeling stressed, so my psoriasis is flared up (and I keep scratching it), and even my stomach has been hurting.  I've cried several times at work (mostly Monday and Tuesday) due to frustrations with my job and the person to whom I report (I don't do well when given contradicting instructions).

I feel like I'm running out of money; I have a deep-seated, never-before-admitted fear that purchasing the "penthouse" (my condo) was a mistake, that it was more than I can handle financially.  My sister was denied her disability by the judge, and the lawyer we hired (who only gets paid if my sister gets paid, BTW) has basically said that was her best chance.  So I really, really need her to get a job.  STAT.  But she doesn't really do anything "stat."  And that's going to be a problem as I continue to stress out.

I'm back to having hard mornings -- where it's hard to feel good about anything, where I feel like I generally hate everything.  Sure the season/lack of light doesn't help, but we're through the worst of it already, so I'm not sure that's entirely to blame.  But I miss those days when I was like, "Is this what it's like to feel happy?"

News and photos out of Australia are incredibly upsetting.  I've joined some crafting groups to make things to send for the animals, but between shipping costs, confusion over drop-off sites, regulations on what materials to use, and I think the Aussies have put a two-week hold on accepting donations, it just doesn't seem worth it right now.  They'd be better off with a monetary donation (which I don't really have).

I felt a surge of relief yesterday when I realized that it was actually Thursday.  I was somehow stuck in a Wednesday loop, that this hard week was lasting forever.  I was grateful it was Thursday.  But then Thursday itself lasted forever.  By 1 p.m. I couldn't believe it was only 1 p.m. as I had clearly had three full workdays in that time.  Time is a social construct.

As I get stressed, I find it hard to keep up with everyday things.  I haven't been logging my meals or steps in my fitness tracker; my weight is going back up.  I've barely remembered to log things in my ovulation tracker, which is all over the place as my body isn't sure what the fuck it's doing since I had my IUD removed.  Which could also explain some mood things, too.

In other words, it's Friday, it's not a payday, it's pouring down rain, and I really, really want to not do adult things for the next 24-72 hours.  Who's ready to hire a professional napper?  Because I am ready and available.