A Treasury Of… Minneapolis Fashion and Interior Design Blog

You really shouldn’t, but if you ever do feel guilty about having a favorite Kardashian or Housewife, redemption is near. Simply inviting yourself into the esteemed halls of Downton Abbey a few hours a year will class up your boob-tube consumption tenfold.

Even I, a born Brit half raised by soap operas, was unsure if I’d take to the upstairs/downstairs drama of the haves and have-nots at Downton when I sampled season one over Christmas. But the series is so warm, well-cast and witty that none of its characters come off as stuffy and not one of its scenes ever feel stale.

Like in real life, every turn in the story twists about in ways which are thoroughly unpredicted yet instantly feel pre-ordained. Three episodes in and you feel you’ve known Lord and Lady Crawley and their three spit-firey daughters your entire life. And that they, and their sweet and scheming servants, are as much your family as they are one another’s.

Season 2 crosses the pond this Sunday onto PBS and marches its characters into the fateful call of the first world war. (Oh, Heavens!) Since everything’s bound to be so different for everyone at Downton now because of that, having already screened season 1 shouldn’t at all be considered a prerequisite for tuning in this weekend and enjoying the story. In fact, I’d think a light haze of confusion might make the war-torn drama go down all the more effectively.

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And, for the record, I don’t actually know much about the Kardashians, but Kelly was and Taylor, I guess, now is my favorite Housewife. (I like ‘em leggy and un-lucid, apparently.)

To solve last night’s case, Kelly and Tiffany sped through the shadows of 1980 Los Angeles in an incredible orange compact sedan with a pristine plaid interior.

Meanwhile, Kris over-curled her hair to adequately investigate a trigger-happy skin-flick producer; and no one went under cover as a reporter (for once).

Not even Bosley, who mostly stayed at his desk.

For many, Sunday night will ooze with indulgence and idiotic indiscretions as slick-sters across America over-toast Draper’s return with three or four cocktails too many at parties both public and dangerously private.

Your doting Treasurer therefore recommends mending your Monday morning hangover with a stacked plate of dry, hard toast and a frosted, full glass of Coffee Time-laced milk. By the time you arrive at the office no one will be able to guess the shameful ways you celebrated Sunday night.

Really, if there’s anything Don’s taught us its the importance of concealing completely one’s unattractive truths.

Overnight your Coffee Time Syrup: Here or Here.

Landing its juiciest celebrity ever, TV’s tartest cherry plucker Ms. Audrey Horne (Sherilyn Fenn) has committed to attending this year’s annual Twin Peaks Fest in Washington state. If Audrey’s showing up, then maybe I should too, finally.

Lucy, Bobby’s Mom, and The Little Man From Another Place will be hanging round the donut table this year as well.

Wow (Bob) Wow!

“…in the world, on March 2nd get to a TV.”

Twenty one years ago tonight, I did just as the voice commanded and knelt my 7th grade self in front of the biggest TV in our house. The commercial for the commercial underlined just how serious it would be.

The fainter and closer to eternal loss that a memory is, the more I love it…

For a long while, I could still picture the diner dance party, the Catholic school girls, and the skunky striped hair-do as clearly as I did the burning crosses and the waxy black Jesus.

But when one set of chaste images is banned after only one airing, sending the blasphemous others into ubiquitous iconography, of course my memories are bound to darken at different rates.

At last, through the power and glory of internet video, all are again resurrected, forever and ever. A-men.

I didn’t even have to flip through the channels. It was easier and more fateful than that. I just flicked on the TV Wednesday night and there it instantly was – Solving History With Olly Steeds on the Discovery Channel.

Olly Steeds, the program, is bit unruly – its titular promise of ancient mysteries solved, rarely fulfilled.

But Olly Steeds, the daring dude, is worthy of being you and your mom and dad’s official Man Crush of 2010. He’s Steve McQueen with a thick, Brit accent; he’s Bear Grylls with a better nose and more covetable clothes.

Steed’s wardrobe is seemingly rooted in rote R.E.I. territory, but the way he recklessly rocks it with motorcycling jackets, square-shaped shades, and beautifully battered boots achieves that illusive “effortless” quality the rest of us spend so many hours orchestrating.

I’m not sure how exciting the rest of his adventures will prove this season, but I’m tagging along with old Olly anyway, just to see what he’s wearing.

Nothing about Damages had ever screamed Must-See-Tv to me, but Season 2: Episode 1 was a free iTunes download last winter the week I had a long plane flight ahead of me and so I figured watching Glenn Close chew some scenery on my iPod would be a nice break from flipping through five million fashion mags.

I was swiftly seduced by the sly and sinister series, Glenn Close not so much chewing the sleek, New York scenery as searing it with her white hot glares. Her character, Patty Hewes, keeps the viewer constantly guessing and ever unsettled. We expect rage, she serves us compassion – we wait for a smile, she instead slings us a sneer. It’s all tense, terse, and terribly tony.

Season 3 begins tonight at 10/9 central, but if you’ve never watched before, feel free to jump right into the shockingly icy waters. Each season focuses on a new, over-arcing case and with Damages, even when you do know what’s going on, you mostly don’t.

Newbie viewer confusion will only enhance the program’s paranoia-punched plotlines, so schedule your season pass now!

As a child, I’m not sure where my mother and father went every Saturday night, smelling of cologne and perfume, dressed fancy in black satin and tweed.

But as they primped and prepared to depart for the evening, my sister and I would watch Puttin on the Hits while we ate our stuck-at-home, little kid suppers.

Whenever I think of the show, even now, I automatically smell the fancy spritzes of my parents’ Brut and Chanel.

I selected this clip from the series in particular because the three contestants featured are named Stacy, Debbie and Stacy. That just kills me.

(Strange but true: My favorite babysitter Kerri, who taught me about Swatch watches, The Limited Express and Dynasty actually went to Jr. High School here in MN with most of the teen pop members of The Jets. I used to ask her about that all the dang time.)

I was sent some sad news on Sunday so I headed to a place called Cupcake to pick out some happy treats in order to soothe my soul.

Cupcake had a funny new flavor called the Clair Huxtable. It makes me smile and I haven’t even eaten it yet, so it was a very good choice for a very rough couple of days.

(Meanwhile I indulged in a Peaches ‘n Cream cupcake and a frosted Pull-Apart.)

I think I’ll finally enjoy the confetti-topped Clair cupcake tonight with some organic milk and the inorganic resurrection of Melrose Place. A junky party for the eyes, ears, and mouth – it’s just what I need.

As a child of the 80s, huge sections of my school vacations were spent watching NBC daytime. Scrabble and Santa Barbara were my favorites but my local affiliate must’ve not aired Super Password during it’s five year run ever, for whatever reason, or it would’ve been another childhood treasure.

I didn’t really even know the show existed (at least in its late 80s incarnation) until I found it last month in this, the summer of my 33rd year, re-running on the Game Show Network.

But it’s all the better seeing the show with virgin eyes at this later stage in life. The neon-lettered opening credits, the talk show meets Tron-ish set, host Bert Convy’s endearing awkwardness, the has-been celebrity guests…none of these things could I have appreciated appropriately as an 11 year old like I can and (twice a day) do, right now.

And the fashion! At least every other episode Mr. Convy harasses some post-pubescent sister from Gimme a Break or mullet-ed heartthrob from Dynasty about their sweatshirt worn as a dress or Navajo patterned gentlemen’s loafers, to which the celebrity guests always shrug sheepishly and reply, “That’s the style!”

In recent episodes Susan Anton and Marla Gibbs sported shoulder pads so wide, they almost plowed Bert right off his podium.

The TIVO catches twelve episodes of the show a week – and it’s the machine that can barely keep up with me.

I mute and pause the program at just the right moment, forcing my favorite friend to play along with me and the show…thinking how I could get them to guess the word BARREL or STAMPEDE or FRANCE with hopefully just a single one-word clue.

If you get the GSN channel, check or re-check the show out. I halfway/totally think the world used to be a better place mostly because there used to be more daytime game shows where winning even two thousand dollars felt super duper fine.

Jack may have the answer.
Love,
Audrey

From TPA:

“One of the scenes from episode 10 involves the filming of a drugged up Audrey Horne by Emory Battis and a 52-Pick Up girl for the purposes of blackmailing Ben Horne. The tape in question is in fact the original tape from inside the camcorder. What’s fascinating is that the tape stays on to include the scene setup, cast and crew joking around, multiple takes, direction from director Lesli Links Glatter and so on and so forth. Considering the age of the tape, it is fine condition.”

I think it’s required by law that your Style Blogger’s license is revoked permanently if you don’t post about Mad Men at least once a season. I’ll spare us all yet another synopsis of the skinny tie, slicked-hair style that the impeccably produced program has pushed back into the mainstream.

Instead I’ll offer this cliffhanger-style confession: Out of all the sly, city studs strutting around the show, I think it’s actually broody Betty Draper I identify most with. (Read into that whatever you will…)

In honor of Betty and this weekend’s season 3 premiere, I’m gonna serve something retro-suburban for Sunday supper while dressed up in my very best.

Though I’ll try my damnedest not to (deliberately) destroy any dining room chairs.