May Flower Power

Fabulous Felt Tulips Barrette

Top: Marshalls
Skirt: Amazon
Shoes: Penny Loves Kenny, DSW
Bag: Bisou Bisou, J. C. Penney's
Belt: Belt is Cool, Amazon

Groovy Girl Charm Bracelet

Top: One Clothing, Marshalls

Skirt: Celebrity Pink, Marshalls

Boots: 2 Lips Too, DSW

Bag: Arizona Jeans, J. C. Penney's

Belt: Sheplers

You know what they say about April showers -- they bring May flowers.  And May flowers remind me of the Mayflower, which isn't nearly as whimsical, unless you're into big belt buckles -- or butts -- and diphtheria.  None of which, luckily, were at the Borgata, where I snapped these gorgeous glass flowers.  Scratch that.  I probably did see some big butts there, buffets -- and their groupies -- being in abundance at any casino.  But you can trust me about the diphtheria. 

Anyhoo, I've always loved casinos.  Not for the gambling or even the grub, but for the so-bad-it's-good decor.  Not like in the movie Casino, mind you, or any other such drab, shoot 'em up narrative.  More like in Vegas Vacation, with cartoonish lights and head-to-toe rhinestones and everyone driving home in a new car.  And the aforesaid bold blooms are bursting with that aesthetic.  Far more exotic than anything that ever grew on Plymouth Rock, they whisper of far-flung escapes and enchanting encounters.  Which is maybe, now that I think of it, why they're in the Borgata lobby in the first place.  They're supposed to say, hey, fresh-off-the-bus-sequin-track-suit lady.  Give us your grocery money and never ride the Greyhound next to Gassy Gert again!  Hit the jackpot and jet to Aruba!  Beat blackjack and book Bora Bora!  And if by some slim chance you don't sashay away with a bucket of tokens?  No worries.  A tropical getaway is still within your reach -- in the form of comped coconut shrimp.  Which will come in mighty handy now that you've gambled away your groceries.

So . . . maybe forget the glass garden.  And hang with the tulips and daisies.  'Cause Grandma would want it that way.

Unless, of course, she's pawning her pearls and making a beeline for the baccarat table.

I'm So Hungry I Could Eat a Horse . . .

 Plucky Poultry Necklace

 Cheery Double Cheeseburger Change Purse

Dress: Zulily

Sweater: Macy's

Shoes: B.A.I.T., Zulily

Bag: Apt. 9., Kohl's

Sunglasses: Rampage, Boscov's

. . . should've been the name of Jim Gaffigan's tour instead of Fixer Upper.  The husband and I have long been fans of the pasty Midwestern food comedian and were psyched to snag tickets to his show in Atlantic City a couple of Saturdays ago.  I loved his books, and we both watched The Jim Gaffigan Show on TV Land.  So, we were all set for an evening of monologues on McDonald's and Krispy Kreme.  You can imagine our consternation, then, when Jim launched into a bit about . . . horses.  Horse races, jockeys, horse owners who seem like they've never met their cash cows in those blue ribbon photos.  The inhumane nature of horseshoes.  The idiocy of the phrase horseback riding because, where, other than the back, are you going to ride?  He even said that no one in the audience would know if he was lying about any of it or not because we were all from Philly and had probably never even seen a horse (and no, he didn't make a pun about Philly and fillies, although I don't know why the hay not).  It was kind of weird.  But also kind of awesome.  You know, in its weirdness.  (The husband really liked it and said he thought that there weren't enough horse jokes.)  He did sign off on a Hot Pockets note, though, so all was right with the fun-with-food world.

Horse or no horse, I can't do a Jim Gaffigan post without fashion featuring food.  So, order up on this Cheery Double Cheeseburger Change Purse and Plucky Poultry Necklace.  To echo the sentiments of fellow funnyman Joel McHale's The Soup, Chat Stew segment, So meaty!

Here's a not-so-short-story about Plucky Poultry.  The pendant is a dollhouse miniature, and when I first saw it, I thought that it was a lobster instead of a chicken.  And I thought, oh, that's perfect, because: 1) Whenever I'm working on something that involves glue and I leave it to dry, I keep checking on it to make sure that the glue's doing its thing, and when I do this, I (silently) refer to it as "checking the lobster pots."  Why, I don't know.  Maybe because it's folksy and strange and makes me feel like I'm doing something as high stakes as battling sharks for my dinner.  (Similarly, whenever I publish a post, I think of it as "releasing the doves."  Like at the wedding of a pesticide heiress or the funeral of a B-list pop star.)  2) Lobster makes me think of Maine and summertime fish fries.  Which makes me think of that part in Legally Blonde where Elle Woods gets to Harvard and asks for her calendar of social events and the preppy orientation guy glares at her, and she says you know, clambakes, trips to the Cape? before giving up and asking where she can find Warner Huntington III, at which point Preppy cracks, try the lido deck.  3) And finally, this crustacean-that-wasn't made me think of Jim's hatred of seafood, or, as he refers to it in Food: A Love Story, "seabugs."  (Which checks out, I guess, Indiana not being known for its shrimp cocktail.).  But this faux food charmer isn't a lobster.  It's a chicken.  Which has nothing to do with summer, Legally Blonde, or Jim Gaffigan's disgust of bottom feeders.  If anything, it's a distant cousin of Thanksgiving.  Which, come to think of it, is right in Jim's wheelhouse (elastic waist pants, Middle America fare in economy-size quantities, naps).  Which means that we've come full circle.

Just like a pumpkin pie . . . or Kentucky Derby wreath.

Tex Marks the Spot: Hot, Hot, Hot on the Heels of Nashville

Betty Blue Strawberry Necklace

Dress: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Boots: 2 Lips Too, DSW

Bag: Marshalls

Heart belt: Sheplers

Blue belt: Mixit, JCPenney

Sunglasses: JCPenney

Olivia Orange Strawberry Necklace 

Top: Delia's

Skirt: Olsenboye, JCPenney

Shoes: Forever Link, Zulily

Bag: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney

Heart belt: Sheplers

Silver belt: Boscov's

Sunglasses: Relic, Kohl's

Pammy Pink Strawberry Necklace

Top: Monteau, Marshalls

Skirt: Mossimo, Target

Boots: 2 Lips Too, DSW

Bag: Marshalls

Heart belt: Sheplers

Blue belt: Mixit, JCPenney

Sunglasses: JCPenney

Texas is nowhere near Nashville, and neither come close to New Jersey.  But all three seemed to meet in Atlantic City at the Borgata two Sunday nights ago because the cast of "Nashville" was there in concert.  Charles Esten (Deacon), Jonathan Jackson (Avery), and Chris Carmack (Will) belted out series favorites and then some, the most notable of the latter being the ensemble's rendition of David Bowie's "Heroes" (during which Carmack busted out a saxophone!) and Jackson's stirring "Unchained Melody," which he dedicated to his wife.  Sadly, Clare Bowen (Scarlett) bowed out because she was under the weather, and Sam Palladio (Gunnar) was never on the bill in the first place because he makes appearances only in his native UK.  This was a bummer, as these two are my favorites.  Still, it was an incredible show.

Now, some of you may be thinking, that's all and well and good, Tote Trove Lady, but you don't seem like a country music fan.  (Then again, maybe you're thinking, get over yourself, you're clearly a fan, you talk about this show all the time!).  And to that I say -- you're right.  You're much more likely to find me at a Weezer concert than a Brad Paisley performance.  But I love good music of all kinds. (Who doesn't?  That is, other than Barry Manilow groupies.)  And I'm a huge fan of "Nashville."  Or maybe I should say I'm a Nashee, which is, according to Esten, the official term for show followers.  (Guess I'm not that different from a Fanilow after all.)  That having been said, back in season 4, even Avery confessed that his roots were in alt rock, as he tried to tame the lion that was bad boy rocker Markus Keen.  What I'm trying to say is, we're all a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll.  Just like there's a South in South Jersey and more than a few Jerseys in Tennessee and Texas.  Even if they are bovines.

But back to the music.  Esten, Jackson, and Carmack brought as much energy and enthusiasm as they do during any episode set.  What's more, it happened to be the last night of the tour, adding an extra element of excitement and emotion.  Carmack shared that his grandfather and parents were born in Atlantic City and that he had family in the audience.  And Esten, or Chip, as he's familiarly known, well, he just didn't want the party to end.  He thanked everyone in connection with the tour and TV show and, after an Everly Brothers duet with Jackson, embraced him like a brother, saying he'd miss singing with him every night.  The trio ended with "A Life That's Good," the same tender folk song that Deacon and the girls sang at Rayna's deathbed, which is a song that's come to embody all that "Nashville" stands for.

It was a magical time, a memorable night, and more than enough to tide me over until season 6 starts in January.

Until next time, boots and saddles.           

Nothing Says Birthday Like Bacon

Last Saturday was the bf's birthday. I knew I'd found the perfect gift when I saw this board game, Mr. Bacon's Big Adventure, on Fred Flare. A knock-off of Candy Land, the game features a board illustrated with -- what else -- bacon and other pork products. Think a little log cabin made of Vienna sausages with a pepperoni roof and Slim Jim chimney. A corndog forest. Trees sprouting meatballs. A strip of bacon bathing in a mustard sea. You get the idea. To make things even more interesting, the instructions suggested playing with real processed meats. As in, land on a space with a meatball on a pimento loaf background and -- you guessed it -- eat a meatball wrapped in everyone's favorite eyeball-studded luncheon meat. There were other even more disturbing combinations, but I'll spare you. Needless to say, the bf found the whole thing hysterical. We played immediately (sans the meat), and he won. As was only fitting.

A rare shot of the bf in his natural habitat.

And yet another shot of me. If you look very closely, you can just about make out the Tote Trove creation hanging around my neck, not to mention the one dangling on my arm . . .

Earlier events of the big day included a visit to the Marine Mammal Stranding Center, right here in Brigantine. The Center rehabilitates wounded seals and other sea life and then releases them back into the ocean. It's the only center of its kind in New Jersey. (The bf relayed this nugget to me. Of the pair of us, he is the socially and environmentally responsible one who is in the know about such things.) Although we didn't get to see any seals, we did see several male lady crabs (nature's joke, I suppose), pursuing several female lady crabs in hopes of mating. The females were having none of it.

That night we enjoyed dinner at Bobby Flay Steak at the Borgata, followed by a night's stay. We each wolfed down large slabs of steak and a sumptuous dessert, pina colada sorbet for him and passion fruit cheesecake for me. I suggested that we return some time just to order the entire dessert menu. Somehow I think they would frown upon that.

Counting Crows at the Borgata

I'd been passing the Counting Crows billboard every day on my way to work and was on the fence about getting tickets. On one hand, I was tempted because they are one of my favorite groups. I probably listen to their greatest hits album, Films About Ghosts, more than any other CD in my collection, and I know all the songs by heart. On the other hand, I'd heard that their live performances were kind of strange. They liked to spontaneously change the tunes and lyrics of their songs and often invited other bands to perform with them. But in the end I decided to go. I wanted to see what went down for myself.

The Borgata Event Center was as packed as I'd ever seen it last night. But that shouldn't have surprised me. The Counting Crows were one of the most influential and popular alternative rock bands to come out of the 1990s.

A woman sitting next to us asked the bf if anyone was opening for them. He said he didn't know, but that no one else was listed on the tickets. She went on to say that she'd heard that there would be other bands there, but that she should "wait it out." Then she said that she hoped they'd be as good as they were ten years ago. She seemed kind of anxious about it.

Minutes later the room erupted with the signature raucous "dee-dee-deedee-deedee-dee-dee deedee-deedee" of circus music, and I remembered something else I'd heard: the Counting Crows always called their tours "The Traveling Circus."

What happened after that was confusing. They opened with a song I didn't know, segued into "Recovering the Satellites," played more songs I didn't know, did "Anna Begins" and "Mr. Jones" and then gave the floor to one of the other artists they had with them -- a rapper. Now, Counting Crows music is melancholy and thought-provoking and folksy and sad, so to hear it intermingled with rap was disconcerting. Several people, including our neighbor, left the theater.

I think, despite everything I'd heard, that some part of me really expected them to get up there and play Films About Ghosts, song for song. So, I was a little angry that that wasn't happening. But I wanted to keep an open mind.

They finished with alternate renditions of "The Long December," "Hangingaround," and "The Rain King," just as my research reported they would. They did not play "Round Here," my favorite, at all. Yet the flashes of songs I recognized were amazing, more moving than any I'd heard performed live.

The whole thing made me think. Maybe, after roughly twenty years, the Counting Crows had grown tired of singing the same songs in the same way. I mean, I think that would make me tired. Maybe they were trying to challenge themselves. Or, maybe their concerts reflected how they truly liked to perform and the stuff on their CDs was the product of their record label. Then again, maybe I was reading too much into it (as usual) and they were just having some fun.

This week, I'll be listening to Films About Ghosts.

Un-Photo Shoot Friday and a Weezer Review

This is me standing outside the Borgata last Saturday night, just before the bf and I went in to see Weezer. (I'm aware that there should probably be a picture of Weezer here instead of me. But I'm sketchy about copying pictures and squeamish about stealing bandwidth, so this is all I've got.) This outfit is no masterpiece - just a fun XOXO top, skinny jeans, and sparkly accessories. Sometimes it's nice to put on something that's cute without all the fuss.

As soon as I spotted the Weezer billboard before the toll on the Atlantic City Expressway last month I knew we had to go to the show. I'll admit that I sometimes go to concerts that I'm lukewarm about just to have something to do. But this wasn't one of those deals. I was so excited that I imagined everyone else felt the same way and that the show would immediately sell out. So, I was poised and ready at my computer at 10:00 a.m. on the Saturday morning when the tickets first went on sale. I think I got them sometime around 10:06. And then I kept checking the rest of the day, gleefully hoping the show would be sold out so I could feel some sense of accomplishment. It didn't sell out until the Friday before the show, though.

The show was in the Borgata's Event Center, a venue I'd not yet visited. Unlike the intimate Music Box, it turned out to be a huge empty ballroom with no chairs. I had known it was standing room only but, in my usual way, had expected something splashy, in this case a palatial, multi-layered room gleaming with black and chrome. (Silly, I know. I blame such delusions on all that fiction I read.) The bf and I settled in with our drinks, carving out our floor space amidst the masses until Weezer finally emerged onstage to the usual screams and applause.

They played everything you'd expect them to: "Hash Pipe," "Troublemaker," "The Sweater Song" (they substituted the narration parts with funny stuff about Fruit Loops. Or maybe it was Fruity O's), "Perfect Situation," "My Name is Jonas," "Beverly Hills," "Say it Ain't So" (my personal favorite), and, of course, the now ubiquitous "(If You're Wondering if I Want You To), I Want You To," all under the blinking lights of the signature Weezer "W." Is it me, or does it sort of look like the WWF symbol?

It wasn't until they'd returned from their first mock exit that they played "Pork and Beans" and their famed cover of MGMT's "Kids" and Lady Gaga's "Pokerface," all while front man Rivers Cuomo bopped around in a blond wig. After this they shuffled off the stage again, boos and other epithets rising in their wake to urge them to return. The band waited a respectable few minutes or so before reappearing with beach balls. Which could mean only one thing -- "Island in the Sun." I was happy to hear it, "hip hipping" along with everyone else, but couldn't help thinking, "What about "Buddy Holly?"' I am such a nerd sometimes, and a gullible one at that, because of course they, as do all bands, were saving the best for last. That song came out about sixteen years ago, when I was in the sixth grade. This made me feel kind of old. But also nostalgic. For when I first began to appreciate music, that is, not for the sixth grade, which was characteristically hellish.

And then "Buddy Holly" came to a halt and that was it. The room emptied slowly into the glittering casino. Although I'd seen it many times before, I drank it all in, loving all the lights and colors. Then we were outside. My feet were killing me, all crunched up in my impractical round-toed pumps, so the bf gallantly gave me a piggyback ride to the car. If that's not romance, then I don't know what is.

Today I listened to Weezer's Blue album to and from work. And on my lunch break run, overplaying my favorites. Hey, I told you I was a nerd.