Merry Christmas: On Pins and Pine Needles

 Fabulous Felt Christmas Wreath Brooch

Dress: Modcloth

Top: Kohl's

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Macy's

Belt: Apt. 9, Kohl's

 Fabulous Felt Christmas Candle Brooch

Top: Liz Claiborne, Marshalls

Skirt: Boscov's

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Macy's

Belt: Kohl's

Fabulous Felt Christmas Tree Brooch

Sweater: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney

Skirt: Marilyn Monroe, Macy's

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Macy's 

Such excitement!  Such anticipation!  Such . . . frustration!  You know, if you're dealing with unwanted baked goods and/or relatives . . . bonus points if Aunt Shirley shows up with a fruitcake.  Yes, it's Christmas again, that extravaganza of unfettered festivity and unbridled emotion.  So, what better way to herald its arrival than with holiday pins, or, in fancy, British tearoom speak, brooches?  Their bright, cheery colors will distract you from any unpleasant situations as well as offer a conversational gambit when things get hairy.  If an overly inquisitive relative asks, "When are you going to get married/have a baby/get a job/move out of your parents' basement?", pretend you misheard her and say, "Where did I get this brooch?  Why, a charming little online shop called The Tote Trove . . "  

See what I did there?  

All kidding (and self promotion) aside, felt has never looked so sweetly old-fashioned as it has in this wreath, tree, and candle.  I can't help how I feel, and I feel I love felt.  It's no wonder, then, that of all the ornaments in all the stores, these three felt fruits (and one veggie) from Target were my favorites:
  

This health-conscious quartet blows cookies out of the water (or should I say eggnog?), making for an unexpectedly cruciferous Christmas.  Except for you, Mr. Mushy Banana.  Go hang with the cherry cordials and figgy pudding.

And now, for something a little more traditional and not at all healthy, here's a gingerbread house built by the husband:  

It's a replica of my parents', which is to say, the place I grew up.  The husband took great pains to reproduce every detail, right down to the lamppost, porch, and shrubbery.  A thing of architectural soundness and beauty, it's proof that men are better at construction, even of the graham cracker kind.  Or, at least this man is better at it than this woman, who stood by as he labored, idly munching marshmallows.    

And finally, if you've had your fill of run-of-the-mill Christmas music, then check out YouTube for The Killers' holiday highlights.  Delightfully disturbing and disturbingly delightful, the desert-themed "Don't Shoot Me Santa" and its follow up, "I Feel it in My Bones," will tickle your dark funny, well, bone, whereas "Joel the Lump of Coal" will make you smile -- and perhaps plot for a place on Santa's naughty list.

So, merry Christmas to all and to all a good night (can you tell I just watched Christmas Vacation?). Eat too much sugar, march to the beat of your own little drummer boy, and, above all else, regift any memberships to the jelly of the month club.  Unless, of course, jelly is part of your plan to eat too much sugar.  In that case, down a jar of orange marmalade for me.         

String Cheese, Please: Guitar Hero Hits

Fabulous Felt Pink Guitar Barrette 

Fabulous Felt Purple Guitar Barrette 

Fabulous Felt Red Guitar Barrette

Top: Merona, Target

Dress: Macy's

Shoes: Chinese Laundry, DSW

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Belt: Marshalls

Jacket: BCBG, Macy's

Sunglasses: Kohl's

The other day I was unknowingly listening to a lite rock radio station.  I say unknowingly because I'd landed on the station at random, sucked in by Fleetwood Mac, Elle King, and Walk the Moon, all artists who I wouldn't expect to be reduced to elevator music cliches in the time it takes to play a jingle.  There's something shameful about the very words "lite rock."  Like it's imitation, less than, and wimpy, fat free fro yo instead of a chocolate milkshake.  I mean, you wouldn't hear Hendrix on a station that sets people up on blind dates or gives away tee shirts.  Or Green Day.  Or Weezer.  Or The Offspring.  So that, I guess, is the litmus test for artistic integrity: Hendrix or punks from the 1990s.  And also, perhaps, The Killers.  On (alternative rock) radio, I recently heard that Brandon and the boys, who hail from Las Vegas, couldn't perform in the casinos when they were underage and getting started, so they played outside in the desert.  The DJ was all excited about it, saying, "tell your children and children's children," but I don't have children, so I'm telling you.  If bloggers are diarists of cyberspace, then DJs are bloggers of the airwaves, sharing their thoughts and anecdotes and emotions and putting their stamp on all things pop culture for the sake of the weary masses trudging to work.

So, as a shout-out to DJs and rock, lite and hard and every beat in between, I give you this bonus track of a one-hit wonder post rife with guitar riffs.  (If you close your eyes, are real quiet, and meditate on the pretty pictures, then I swear you can hear them.)  The playlist includes three renditions of the guitar, this perhaps most visually pleasing of musical instruments, the colors converging in perfect harmony upon the canvas of one boldly striped dress.

On that, ahem, note, I've also got a flashback to Tuesday's post -- more Flash Charms, sing-a-long style!  Because good things come in flashes: flash sales, flash mobs, flashes of genius, and, if Sheldon Cooper has anything to say about it, The Flash.  (Admittedly, some bad things come in flashes, too, such as hot flashes, flash floods, and flashers.  But their kind isn't welcome here.)  This necklace has got more than a medley of fan favorites, including a record, headphones, a microphone, a record player, a guitar, and even a harmonica.  It's a little bit country, a little bit rock and roll -- and a whole lot of loud.

Speaking of which, let's get loud by waxing poetic about the powers of FM (also, of freeway fries) in this not-quite haiku:

Drive-thru dinner, scarf it down.

Blast those jams all over town.

Lip-sync, twitter, warble, strum

Belt out, carol, intone hum.

Uncork spirit, fancy free.

That's what music means to me.

Hmm; with lines like these, it's no wonder that video killed the radio star.  So now for some sound bites from others, one sticky, one sweet, neither involving Def Leppard lyrics:

Sticky:

Mindy Kaling: "No ones wants to hear new music, ever."  (Snarky but true, as evidenced by my greatest hits collection.)

Sweet:

Sheryl Crow: "It it makes you happy, then it can't be that bad."  (As apt a theme song for humankind as any.  Feel free to apply it to those fries.)

It's times like this that I wish I had a keytar, Jem and the Holograms style, or at least one of those inflatable guitars you get at the circus.  You know, to lend some levity.  That, or a live action feed of The Wiggles. 

So Much to Say . . .

Glam Garden Necklace

Dress: Monteau, Marshalls

Tank: Worthington, JCPenney

Shoes: City Streets, JCPenney

Bag: Nine West, Boscov's

Blue scarf: Express

Pink scarf: Wet Seal

Sunglasses: JCPenney

 Maraschino Mint Necklace

Tank: So, Kohl's

Skirt: Olsenboye, JCPenney

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Call it Spring, JCPenney

Belt: Marshalls

Sunglasses: Cloud Nine, Ocean City

Victorian Charm Necklace

Blouse: Marshalls

Bra top: Boscov's

Skirt: Marshalls

Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's

Bag: Glamour Damaged, Etsy

Sunglasses: Target

. . . about music (if you listen real hard, you can hear Dave Matthews Band cranking out that early-1990s classic).  Sometimes I think things.  Especially when I'm in my car, listening to the radio.  Which means that more often than not those thoughts are related to music.  Here, in no particular order, are some stray ones I managed to capture:

- I heard Hootie and the Blowfish's "Let Her Cry" the other day and thought, no wonder Darius Rucker went the route of the rhinestone cowboy.  This tearjerker of a tune has country written all over it.

- Carly Simon's "You're So Vain" always makes me wonder about James Taylor (even though they say the song's not about him).  As in, self-satisfied Lothario or self-effacing hippie?  You decide. 

- Here's a thought that went so far it crossed the line into unfettered fiction:

I remember driving in the car with my mother, listening to The Killers and asking her what she thought "I've got soul but I'm not a soldier," meant, and she said, "That Brandon Flowers is a lover, not a fighter."  I think she just made that up, though, because she was like that, and because she liked Brandon Flowers the way I liked Cade McGowan (or any other boy blessed with a dangerous-sounding name)

- The last telephone on-hold music I heard was kind of Renaissance-y, which I found to be a refreshing change from the usual classical or easy listening fare.  Then it got even snappier, segueing into a catchy bluegrass-meets-adult-contemporary number that was pure Weather Channel.  The next time you tune in to plan a beach day, don't be surprised if you start wondering where you can buy the CD.

- Some thoughts on Fred Durst:

Not too long ago, for some reason, I was wondering what became of Fred Durst, only to turn on a morning radio show and learn that he's directing eHarmony commercials.  Jokes about nooky ensued.  Then, less than a week later, I heard that he has a tattoo on his chest of Kurt Cobain facing Elvis.  A man of many layers, that Fred.

- Some thoughts on cowbell:

Thanks to that Christopher Walken/Will Ferrell SNL skit, everyone knows about the cachet of cowbell in Blue Oyster Cult's "(Don't Fear) The Reaper."  But I didn't realize just what a sweetly haunting sound it could be until I heard it in the Bangles' "Hazy Shade of Winter."   Naturally, I had to Google said song to confirm that it was in fact cowbell I was hearing, and when I did, I discovered that it was a cover originally done by Simon & Garfunkel.  I didn't see that coming.  Talk about more informed living through blogging!    

 

- And finally, I'd like to see Begin Again before it leaves theaters.  This isn't so much a thought as a weekend plan, but I'm okay with that if you are.

Until next time; may all of your soundtracks be smooth ones.

It's Just Like a Rocker . . .

 Rock the Clock Necklace

Tube top: Kohl's

Cardigan: So, Kohl's

Skirt: Material Girl, Macy's

Shoes: City Streets, JCPenney

Bag: Candie's, Kohl's

 Girl in the Garden Necklace

Top: Candie's, Kohl's

Skirt: So, Kohl's

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Old Navy

Jacket: Worthington, JCPenney

Belt: Craft supply drawer

 Rainbow Ribbons Corsage Necklace

Top: Victoria's Secret

Pants: Xhilaration, Target

Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney

Bag: Princess Vera, Kohl's

 Damsel in the Daisies Necklace

Camisole: Candie's, Kohl's

Blouse: Candie's, Kohl's

Jeans: City Streets, JCPenney

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: American Eagle, Payless

Citrus Blooms Corsage Necklace

Dress: B&B, Ocean City 

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Marshalls

Sunglasses: Cloud Nine, Ocean City

Mint bracelet: H&M

Lime bracelet: Cloud Nine

Kelly bracelet: Parade of Shoes

. . . to crash a garden party.  To be sure, the Vegas lights irreverence of the nonworking watch face in the Rock the Clock Necklace unsettles the petals of the other four, more demure floral pieces.  But then, what's a game of dress up without a gatecrasher?  

Speaking of rock and roll, I was lucky enough to see The Killers a couple of weeks ago.  First and foremost, I'll say that they indeed "killed it" (insert groan here), playing all of their hits, culminating with "When You Were Young," to the tune of Franklin Institute-quality laser light effects and an explosion of K- and lightning bolt-shaped silver confetti.  It was certainly the concertiest concert I'd ever been to, complete with a shoulder-to-shoulder standing-room-only venue punctured by a lone overzealous dancer busting out moves so mosh-worthy and energetic that I didn't know whether to laugh or shield my face.  That's not true.  I laughed, uncontrollably, at the Saturday Night Live-esque absurdity of it all.  While shielding my face.