"The Rip Tide," Beirut

You know what I love as much as I love Beirut's new album? First: Zach Condon himself. And second: Finding full albums ("The Rip Tide" included) on YouTube. Click here to listen to it in all its masterfully melodic glory.

"What is a weekend?"

New obsession: "Downton Abbey."

There's no two ways about it — i'm obsessed! A friend here and there has raved about it from time to time, and just this past weekend I got the chance to bum the DVDs from one such friend. In the 36 hours from Friday evening to Sunday morning, I found the time to finish the entire first season — and I loved every moment. From when Anna said "I love you" (she and Mr. Bates are adorable) to when Mary turned down Matthew (she does NOT deserve him), from Sybil's astonishingly brilliant "new frock" to Mrs. Hughes' carnival romance — I'm enamored. Though, Maggie Smith might be my all-time favorite (the things that come out of her mouth!) — she's outstanding in her role, and to all you McGonagall enthusiasts: you won't be disappointed. Not only are the characters lovable (well, some of them detestable), but the story line is riveting, the cinematography — beautiful, the score — haunting, the costumes — magnificent. I can't remember the last time a TV show captured me on so many levels; leave it to the Brits! Long live "Downton Abbey" — is it January (season 2) yet?

Sketch Swap

Short and sweet and to the point: If you're in need of something to do, visit SketchSwap.com.

"You're in love with a fantasy."

There are some movies you watch time and time again. Why? Because eventually, it feels like coming home. Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris" is the first movie, for me, in a long time that immediately felt homey — and it had only been five minutes. I can only imagine what "watch, rewatch, repeat" will accomplish.

In the movie, Owen Wilson is in love with a fantasy — the nostalgia of another time and place. The past is an escape — much like how this movie was an escape for my mom, grandma, aunt, and I. The outing was an impromptu idea that trumped all thoughts of Monday night Zumba and loads of laundry. We ladies met at La Reve, a charming French cafe in downtown Wauwatosa (I know, who'd have thought?). We dined on crepes, croque madame, brie crostini with honey and cracked pepper, and house-brewed coffee. Heaven. And the movie itself was the icing on our escapist cake.

Allow me to relay one quote from Michael Sheen's Paul that really captured my attention — probably because it rings so true for my own existence. It goes like this:

"Nostalgia is denial — denial of the painful present... The name for this denial is golden age thinking — the erroneous notion that a different time period is better than the one ones living in — its a flaw in the romantic imagination of those people who find it difficult to cope with the present."

Made me want to cry. And made me want to rejoice that, if there exists such a thing as "golden age thinking," that means there also exists other people suffering from said thinking — just like me. Now I can't with good conscience delve into the ins and outs of "Midnight in Paris" — let me just say, it was surprising. Wonderfully surprising. And I wouldn't want to spoil it for any other dreamer out there. Just take my word for it, fellow Franco-files: this film is like coming home and makes you pause to muse, as Marion Cotillard's Adriana says, "That Paris exists and anyone could choose to live anywhere else in the world will always be a mystery to me."

Jubilation

"Jubilation (JOO-buh-LAY-shun) noun
Lots of happiness or rejoicing."

Well, I'm not so sure about "lots," but I am sure that there have been some small jubilations chez moi lately. I call them small because... Well... From what I've seen around me, there's been plenty of reason to feel most un-jubilant. Friends are sick, parents are aging, doors are closing, and doors are opening (which can sometimes be equally jarring). For lack of a better phrase: There's just a lot. And I'm not sure "jubilation" is what there's a lot of — but yes, despite life's trials, the small jubilation-y things are ever-present (and that's really what I hope comes through here at Stuff&Nonsense). So here are some of my recent jubilations:

Nights with Novotnys
Last Friday, I visited the home of one of my closest family friends — we've known each other since 2nd grade, saw each other through first crushes, first periods, and the first year at college (we were roomies). When Maria got married last summer to her high school sweetheart, I was a bridesmaid — only one of two girls who wasn't a sister of the bride or groom. Maria has four sisters, all different but the same. Whenever I'm lucky enough to go over to the Novotny house, I feel like one of the sisters myself — I know the family's yearly vacation patterns, which sister has an affinity for stray cats, which one whines, which one is really into hugs, and which ones makes Mrs. Novotny say "Oh who knows!" when you ask about her. It's a jubilant feeling having a home-away-from-home like that, complete with inside jokes about Simma's cheesecake. (It's world-famous, you know. As world-famous as Miller — just ask the Novotnys.)

Irish Festing
On Saturday night, I had some quality time with the inhabitants of my home-NOT-away-from-home — AKA my own parents. Initial thoughts: Why can't every night be Irish Fest night? I'm proud of my heritage, that's for sure. I don't know what clan has more fun or whose music could be better-suited to make me want to jump out of my skin with jig-filled glee. Milwaukee's Irish Fest is, hands down, the best. We munched on Rueban sandwiches from McBob's (honestly the best corned beef I've ever tasted!) followed by potato pancakes topped with sour cream. We sipped on whiskey and Irish cream coffee while our ears feasted on a trio of a fiddle, guitar, and Uilleann Pipes. Mom, Dad, and I then stopped by the Miller High Life stage for some Scythian — a band of four boys who were new to us. Talk about a sheer delight! Fiddles, guitars, mandolins, banjos, accordions, giant drums, Irish dancers — you name it, these fellas had it. And they were handsome, upbeat, and jigging up a storm to boot! Swoon. As if the night could get any better, we topped it off with cherry strudel. And that was just jubilantly fine.

I had a third jubilation in mind, but it is, I'm afraid, going to have to wait for its own post. It deserves its own post. Not that the others don't, but there's only so much time in a day. So for now, I go with the wish that we all experience some small jubilation today — no matter what life is throwing at us otherwise.

I'm speechless. I have no speech.

Mingle all the way

You know what's The Worst? I'll tell you. Being in a situation that calls for mingling when one is just not in a particularly mingle-y mood. As luck would have it, I found myself in just such a situation last night: feeling ornery, closed-off, and stubbornly wallflower-ish. The reason such situations as these are The Worst goes beyond your own bad mood — it's the knowledge that your bad mood is childish and uncalled for that really takes it to the level of The Worst. There's no way to shake the cranky, so you're stuck in a vicious cycle of situation-loathing, self-awareness, and eventual self-loathing — resulting in more situation-loathing, as you're aware that only by escaping this situation will all of the loathing cease, despite the ridiculous nature of the loathing in the first place.

See? It's just The Worst. I'm irritated just thinking about it. And for what? God forbid I have to go to a stranger's home with my boyfriend and eat free macaroni and cheese pizza. God forbid the home be lovely and the night air be just the right dose of hot and sticky to make sitting outside under mini garden lanterns a sheer delight (well, a sheer delight on any other occasion. Let's not forget, I'm loathing this particular sitch). And God forbid, the strangers end up being normal, not-entirely-loathsome people. So what is my problem? Can we blame it on hormones? Let's blame it on hormones. It's just one of those things that makes a girl feel like a raging B — something that, if you have eyeballs enough to see Stuff&Nonsense, you know I do not aim at. But I guess The Crazy gets the best of us all from time to time — and it sucks. Plain and simple sucks. So what can you do to shake The Crazy in the future? I'm just not sure. Deep breaths and affirmations in the bathroom? (I tried last night — to little avail.) Taking a step back? Gaining some much-needed perspective? Those suffering from occasional bouts of Crazy wish it were that simple. In the end, thank heavens there's always tomorrow and a brand new day — as Miss Stacy said in Anne of Green Gables, "Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it."

How very "Great Gatsby" of you

Ever have a conversation with someone and find yourself thinking, "Wow. Your life is a movie." Or, to quote Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail, "So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book when really... Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

Well on Saturday after my 11:00 Zumba class, I started talking with Joanie — a teacher for Kettle Moraine High School who's probably a few years older than my mom. She asked me if I'd gone anywhere this summer, and I was forced to reply with a "just up north" sort of response. But Joanie? She went to visit her kids out east. Her daughter, Lizzie, is living in New York City and studied theater at NYU, though she's now working in pharmaceutical sales to pay the bills. She just broke up with her boyfriend of four years, so Joanie said that for the next few weeks, Lizzie will be bunking with her aunt — Joanie's sister-in-law — who just happens to be president of Saks Fifth Avenue.

This is where my ears really perked up. "Really?!," I exhaled, eyes bugging out of my skull. Joanie laughed, "Really." So she told me how Aunt Saks has an apartment right in downtown New York, complete with leopard print on the foyer ceiling and bottom-to-top marble in the bathroom. The place is small, Joanie said, but impeccable — Vogue wanted to run an article on the decor. When Joanie and her husband went for a visit, the entire lot of them went to see "The Book of Mormon" and went back stage. "Ohhh yes, I do this all the time! Day in the life!," Joanie played — I had to laugh. She gets it.

But Lizzie's string of little adventures are what really captured my imagination. Joanie told me how one night, Aunt Saks had to go this cocktail and garden party in the Hamptons (of course!). Since Lizzie was staying with her, she was invited along — the dress code? White. Yes. Wear white, because the aim of this party was to show off the gardens to their best effect. Clearly — wear white or wear nothing at all! Lizzie's lone white dress wasn't quite up to snuff according to Aunt Saks — a little shopping was in order. Don't worry: a $400 Diane Von Furstenberg dress was just the thing! (My jaw dropped and I audibly gasped at this point in Joanie's narrative.)

So at this Wear White party, there was (of course!) a full band and a singer. Now Lizzie, having a theater degree from NYU, allegedly has a voice like butter — very Zooey Deschanel. Aunt Saks and this fellow Lizzie had been newly introduced to, Devan, insisted that she go and sing with the band. So what happened? In typical Hollywood fashion, Lizzie asked the band if she could accompany them while their lead vocalist took a breather. They obliged the girl, and after wowing the crowd, the singer told Lizzie to look her up — that she would help her get connected with the right people.

Now this being a cocktail party, it ended at 8:00. Luckily there was Devan to keep things interesting — he invited Lizzie to another party, and she happily tagged along. Not wanting to be too much of a clingy sort, she left Devan's side to mingle with the other folks at the party — and ended up landing a date. Later, Devan found her and said he'd been looking all over for her. Lizzie landed a second date — this time an official date with Devan.

I truly was hanging on Joanie's every word — so much so, that 45 minutes passed standing in the fitness center parking lot in the scalding sun. Sweat dripping down my back, I didn't care — I wanted the next chapter in Lizzie's so-exciting life. But how silly of me — this is an actual person. A girl who is actually living these Hollywood happenings. And in real life, things — even exciting things — take time. It's funny that I'm sitting here, musing over the life and times of a girl I've never met — a girl whose mother I barely know — but that's the romantic in me. I honestly can't wait for next Saturday's Zumba and the chance to ask Joanie what's new with Lizzie and Aunt Saks.