Pip le squeak

Pooh says "nobody can be uncheered with a balloon." I say: nobody can be uncheered with this face. This Pippin face. This Squeakies. Ok so our dog is still a puppy — his jaw is always flapping open and his sharp little teeth often find their way into the elbow of my fleece jacket or the back of my hand. He's always pouncing on newcomers and barking at pivotal parts in our favorite movies. He's always staring at us, doe-eyed, when we're conjuring up dinner and pawing at our laps as we attempt to ingest our eats. But he also licks our toes, flops over like a rag doll for a good belly-scratch, snuggles up in the morning, and dances on his hind legs as we shout "CIRCUS PUPPY!" — Pippin's the best. He's our Squeakies. And although I wish I were partaking in any number of exciting weekend activities (I will tell you right now, I am not), at least I've got The Pip — my little ray of sunshine who makes me content enough to just be heading home.

Beyond the veil

My dear friend, Shea, is getting married this winter — On New Year's Eve, to be exact. She's asked myself and our fellow amie, Erin, to assist her with making jewelry and generally accessorizing and styling (though Lord knows my imagination will take me far beyond the reaches of those two things). Today, after seeing top-secret pictures of The Dress, I decided to start at the top and work my way down: the veil. Or, non-veil, as is so often the case for today's modern bride. And, to be frank, I'm totally cool with that — in fact, I'm in favor of it. Sure, some veils are simply beautiful, but brides are now at liberty to do so much more — to really put their personality into their attire. Now, I'm not sure which facet of Shea's ever-dynamic personality she's hoping to highlight with this wedding of hers, which leaves me needing a.) a chat with the bride herself and b.) a brainstorming session with Erin. So for now, I will simply share some pretty veils (and beyond) that I happened upon — and I reserve the right to go a little wedding-happy with the Pretty from now until New Year's, thank you very much.
((Visit Twigs & Honey for more lovely looks))

Dear (blank)

"No man can walk out of his own story."

The other night, my family gathered around our giant projection screen in the basement to watch a movie that was new to all of us — "Rango." I'd heard good things about it from my boss, who writes movie reviews from time to time for the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, so I was looking forward to it. But was I a little skeptical? Admittedly so. Mostly because, well... I love Johnny Depp. Don't get me wrong. Adore him. But I fear he's become a bit over-exposed, and all the love in the world can't make me blind to that sad fact. But a funny thing happened while watching "Rango" — Johnny's vocal chops weren't the selling point. Actually, I surely wouldn't have even known Rango's voice belonged to Johnny if the previews hadn't sold the hell out of that little detail. Johnny's voice being a bit nondescript made me love it all the more — it was just good voice-acting, and I didn't need to know it was The Depp in order to enjoy it.

Beyond the vocals, "Rango" was visually stunning — different from any other CG movie I've seen before. The story itself, being a Western, might make you scratch your head as to why I'd choose such a genre as a Flick Pick here at Stuff&Nonsense, but the message was a lovely one and "visually stunning" would be my words of choice (see also: beautiful, refreshing, and unique). "Rango" was mature, bizarre, and magical in an Old West kind of way (you know, Native American legends about walking cacti and such). There were moments I laughed, moments that took my breath away, and moments that had me almost crying for this reptile who is just trying to find himself and his place in the world. It's a theme we all can relate to, and "Rango" ends up giving us hope — Hope that with a little imagination and a lot of gumption, we'll all ride off into that proverbial sunset, someday.

Pretty magical

Photos by Lissy Laricchia (I'm in love!)

Got me twitterpated

Whilst munching on a Nutella Yummy for lunch, I stumbled upon some pretty wunderbar things. Things that made me catch my breath, smile to myself, and sigh a little. It's nice to know on this super-rainy Wisconsin Wednesday that such various shades of beauty are out there, waiting to be stumbled.

"Nobody can be uncheered with a balloon."

A couple weeks ago, I had the pleasure of accompanying my cousin's little Gloria to Disney's "Winnie the Pooh" — In a word? Wonderful. I can't say it was amazing or astonishing, staggering or surprising, for it was plain and simply wonderful. It was everything Pooh has ever been — witty, warm, and an ever-welcomed chance to step back into childhood's Hundred Acre Wood, if only for a moment. (Well, an hour and three minutes.) My favorite things about this flick are nearly impossible to number — Never, in recent history, do I recall ever having found such peaceful joy in every moment of a movie.

Perhaps a certain degree of this quiet elation stems from nostalgia — my feeling that Pooh is still the same bear I knew and adored growing up. But apart from nostalgia, it must be said that this time around, seeing Pooh through my grown-up eyes, I felt such a deep and profound appreciation for the humor and heart behind these lovable characters. I laughed every time Pooh's tummy rumbled and at every adorably clueless remark:

"Piglet: I can NOT knot.
Rabbit: Not knot?
Pooh: Who's there?"


I sighed contentedly when the lovely voice of Zooey Deschanel crooned the Pooh themesong (and subsequently contributed a sound effect here and there). I smiled to myself at the charming use of the "Winnie the Pooh" storybook itself on screen — the characters bouncing from one page to the next, using sentences as balance beams, and escaping the Bakson's pit by clambering up a pile of loose letters. It was a simple, snuggly bedtime story on the big screen. I think I loved it more than little Gloria — her only comment afterwards? "There were no monsters!" And I guess that's a good thing. Life's filled with enough heffalumps and woozles — I'd rather have an hour and three minutes of this silly old bear.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas (in July)

'Tis the season to be jolly! Well, it's one day to be jolly, anyway.
The season itself starts, I would say, after Thanksgiving — though department stores and local radio stations would argue for said season to begin anytime after Labor Day. For me, the exception to the post-Thanksgiving/Labor Day rule is this one: July 25th. Or July 24th, if the 25th is filled up with reality, as it is today. Yes, today is Christmas in July; your average Monday in the middle of a Wisconsin heat wave — I'm at work, my gal pals are also giving it up for The Man, I've got laundry to do, bills to pay, and there's no partridge in my pear tree.





But yesterday — yesterday was a blissful Sunday, and there was, as Kermit sang, "only one more sleep 'til Christmas" (in July). So our very merry group gathered at my aunt's pool for some holiday cheer. Lounging in the sun-dappled shade, we found ourselves in a perfect little oasis — an oasis from the rushing, the drama, the worries, and the monotony of every-day-that's-not-Christmas life. Through the wonders of technology (and my lovely Aunt Kal who can afford to indulge in gadgets that are otherwise quite foreign to me), we had Bing Crosby crooning "Silver Bells" over the loudspeaker as we soaked in the few hours before twilight, sipping on Berry Weiss and munching Paul Newman's salsa.




As the evening wore on (and I tip my hat to Elwood P. Dowd for that little lead-in), we headed to Balistreri's in Tosa for some much-anticipated fried eggplant and a large veggie pizza (plus sausage, minus olives). The place was decked (the halls) out in its standard decor, which luckily includes garland, twinkle lights, and a general aura of all things warm and cozy. I dare say there isn't a better-suited spot for Christmas in July in all of Milwaukee County. It was, in a word, perfect (though we did have to generously salt the fried eggplant, and Erin felt compelled to pick the mushrooms off her pizza).




We rounded out the festivities with some McDonald's soft-serve — an event Erin and I were skeptical of. Why soft-serve when you can have custard? But we obliged our bargain-loving friends and (an M&M McFlurry, Oreo McFlurry, and a bite of a dipped cone later) were pleasantly surprised. I guess you could say we were soft-serve Scrooges whose hearts were changed all in one night. With the reality of desk jobs and Monday morning starting to seep back into our mindgrapes, our party went its separate ways post-dessert. Time for bed — time to dream of sugarplums and Christmas in December.






As I drove home, Judy Garland sang to me: "Once again as in olden days, happy golden days of yore, Faithful friends who were dear to us will be near to us once more." The tears came. I couldn't help it. Judy gets me every time. I thought about these dear friends of mine and how life never fails to make it more complicated for us to stick together. Next week, one of them is moving to New York City — and in a month, another is following. We've always said "I'll be home for Christmas (in July)," and although that hasn't always been the case (these girls are world-travelers), we've always done our best.





But we're getting older — this year showed it. What with all our conflicting grown-up schedules, coordinating this Sunday gathering was quite a feat, holiday or not. And in past years, we'd dressed to the nines in green and red, christmas socks, ribbons, jingle bells, and santa hat headbands. In past years, we've baked cookies, watched scenes from "The Santa Claus," and sung carols around the piano. This year, all we could manage was pizza and poolside. Judy made me long for the "golden days of yore" — when we were closer to being kids than adults; when we didn't have any place to be but with each other. It was an odd moment — my loving everything about our grown-up Christmas in July, but missing the kitschy, childlike magic of it all.



Deep breaths, Kels. Don't fear change. This isn't the end — it's just a new kind of Christmas. "Someday soon we all will be together, if the fates allow." Well, this year, the fates allowed — and by Baby Jesus it was good. At the heart of this holiday is a group of friends filled with love; come striped socks or swimwear, the love will remain. And that's what Christmas, even in July, is all about.