Food for the Distraught: Murder With a Side of Munchies

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Halloween mysteries are full of tricks and treats.  And that's especially true of the two I just gobbled: Leslie Meier's Candy Corn Murder and Lee Hollis's Death of a Wicked Witch.  Both involve vehicular homicide, although not in the way you'd imagine, as well as, of course, festive food.  

In Candy Corn Murder, a local is stuffed in a car trunk in the middle of Tinker Cove's pumpkin-catapulting competition.  (There's also a guess-how-many-candy-corns-are-in-the-canister contest.)  In Death of a Wicked Witch, Bar Harbor's boo-tiful new sandwich artist bites the big one by being gassed in her own Wicked 'Witches food truck.

Like Joanne Fluke, Lee Hollis sprinkles in recipes, and in Death of a Wicked Witch, they're all for sandwiches (hoagies and grinders, hoagies and grinders!).  Witch Which always makes me wonder.  Are they there to serve as a delicious distraction, or for the deeper purpose of offering life-affirming balance to the bone-chilling murder?  You know, kind of like how people bring cakes and casseroles when someone dies.  Then again, like those cakes and casseroles, these subs and clubs have enough fat to end someone's life instead of sustaining it.  

These are the things that keep me up at night.  That and the BLTs.

Bear Flair: The Joy of Corduroy

Mauve, white, teal, and raspberry minis: Wild Fable, Target
Tan mini: Celebrity Pink, Macy's
Lilac mini: Modcloth
Pants: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

The last time I blogged, it was October, and it was about jackets.  Now it's November . . . which means time for corduroy!  It doesn't get much more retro than this elegant yet rustic ribbed velvet that's most at home with Led Zeppelin and love beads.  Also, Adam Sandler's "Thanksgiving Song" ("my favorite kind of pants are corduroys"), which I guess is retro now too, having come out in the '90s.

So, yeah, I like this fally fabric, as evidenced by the picture above.  But someone else likes it beary much, too.  There are lots of famous grizzlies out there: the Berenstain Bears, the Care Bears, even, if we're to count that strange cartoon, the Gummy Bears.  But only one wears stylin' green overalls.  And that's our story's star, Corduroy.

A sweet and curious underdog if ever there was one, this library darling remains at the top of children's woodland creature wish lists (because yes, that's totally a thing).  And no wonder.  He's so much cuddlier than that creepy Teddy Ruxpin. 

Anyway, for those of you who don't know, the first book, Corduroy, introduces the title character as languishing in a toy store with a missing button.  Then a little girl named Lisa busts open her piggy bank and buys him.  She brings him home and, with some surprisingly deft needlework for a child, restores him to his former sartorial splendor.

Yet it's the second book, A Pocket for Corduroy, that captured my Pre-K imagination.  Lisa brings Corduroy to a laundromat, which is fun because there are lots of colorful pictures of clothes.  She tells Corduroy to stay put while she does her laundry, but he sees something with a pocket and wanders off because, hey, he wants a pocket too!  A kindly, beret-wearing artist washes Corduroy's overalls (and, in fact, mistakenly washes him!).  But then it's closing time, and he leaves Corduroy to brave the night alone.  To be fair, he does say he's "too fine a fellow to be lost."

Corduroy gets into some mischief involving detergent (because really, who hasn't?) and gives himself a bit of a fright.  But the next morning Lisa finds him.  He tells her about the pocket (apparently he's not one of those talking toys that hides his powers), and she promptly takes him home and stitches a snazzy purple one to his overalls.  

I think it was Corduroy's commitment to clothes that got me.  He understood the importance of details and wasn't afraid of a little danger if it meant snagging his look.

Take a hint, Snuggles, and put on some pants.    

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Please Let Down Your Cares: The Hairy Truth About Happiness

Fabulous Felt Strawberry Banana Orange Barrette

Top: Express, Marshalls

Skirt: ELLE, Kohl's

Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's

Bag: Modcloth

Sunglasses: Michaels

Modern life moves at warp speed.  Pressures bombard us from every direction, smartphones and smarter screens only adding to the struggle.  (Although, to be fair, there's nothing easy about the old school practice of hacking a chicken to bits as opposed to, say, picking up some Perdue.  Ah, the good old days!)  That's why people say "keep calm and carry on," or "I'm going to my happy place."  I can't hear that last one without thinking of the end of Happy Gilmore when Adam Sandler daydreams about his grandmother hitting the jackpot, Chubbs alive and playing the piano, and a lingerie-clad Julie Bowen serving up pitchers of beer -- all meditations that help him win the big tournament.  My happy places are The Tote Trove, anywhere the husband is, and inside a good book.  Also, any of my favorite stores, although I've recently been making an effort to rely on those particular havens less often.  Not that I don't still love shopping -- let's not get crazy now!  But I'm trying to do the most I can with what I've got -- a goal, it seems, that applies to much more than stretching one's bead supply.

In this spirit of simplicity, I have only one piece to post this week.  And while I'm on the subject, I think I'll stop calling them "pieces."  It's so pretentious, like I'm hammering gold instead of cutting felt.  No, this week's craft is most certainly a "barrette" - a lovely, nostalgic, and very French word that evokes memories of allowance splurges on adornments for long, undyed hair.  In other words, the hallmark of less tress-stressed times.  Maybe that's one of the reasons I've clung to my girlish-meets-sister wives 'do for more than a decade -- it reminds me of when life was simple.  That, and more sophisticated hair care can be a real bitch.  (Yep, I used the b-word.  Because sometimes keeping calm and carrying on means sprinkling a little salt on your soup.)  

Nevertheless  . . . I'm considering cutting my mane.  Because I suspect that there really is something therapeutic about getting rid of all that dead weight.  Haircuts are no stranger to women in transition.  "The Big Bang Theory's" Kaley Cuoco cut her hair to skullcap proportions shortly after getting married -- and before getting divorced -- in real life.  And when Scarlett (Clare Bowen) lost her mom on "Nashville," she chopped her waist-length locks to an ear-skimming pixie.  But perhaps it was Sheryl Crow who, albeit breaking free of the coiffure coterie, said (er, sang) it best with her all-purpose and all-powerful mantra: "a change will do you good."

    

On a lighter note, briefer strands will be an even better canvas for showcasing -- what else? -- barrettes.

Movie Moment: Jack and Jill

When I first saw the trailer for Jack and Jill, I thought, oh no, that's too ridiculous, even for me.  But, as is often the case when I make such sweeping declarations, I ended up seeing it anyway. 

In a nutshell, Jack and Jill is about polar opposite twins.  Ever the popular one, Jack (Adam Sandler) grew up to be a hotshot LA ad exec with a beautiful wife (Katie Holmes) and two adorable children.  Jill (also Adam Sandler), on the other hand, has always been a little bit . . . different.  Garbed in an endless array of garish prints, Technicolor belts, and kooky accessories, she's socially awkward to the nth degree and desperate for "twin time," a quality that seems to have grown stronger as a result of her and Jack's mother's recent death.  When she visits Jack for Thanksgiving (with a fleet of luggage and her beloved cockatoo, Poopsie, in tow), she doesn't want to return home to the Bronx.  Jill's antics carry on through Hanukkah, her and Jack's birthday, and the family cruise to Europe, during which time she's pursued by both Jack's gardener and, wonder of wonders, Al Pacino. 

Now, what I'm about to say may seem a little strange.  But in a weird way, I identified with Jill.  Her wacky wardrobe and out-there personality sort of spoke to me, a feeling that was cemented when I spied her carrying a cherry-print XOXO handbag I own.  Quirkiness is also alive and well in Jack's kids.  His (adopted) son straps random objects to himself with tape, and his daughter always carries a doll dressed exactly like her.  I was surprised to find myself laughing out loud at the want-to-hide-your-head-under-a-pillow humor (which was all the more conspicuous in a theater full of silent viewers).

Peppered with appearances by "Saturday Night Live" alums Tim Meadows, Norm MacDonald, David Spade, and Dana Carvey, Jack and Jill is a hoot that delivers holiday hilarity worth the price of admission.

Movie Moment: Just Go With It

The bf and I finally made it to see Just Go with It last night. Full of color, sunshine (thank you, Hawaii), and Adam Sandler humor, it was the fun, light-hearted romantic comedy I'd expected. I think the bf may have liked it even more than I did, if his bouts of laughter were any indicator.

For those of you who haven't read my other movie reviews, I'm known as a bit of a spoiler. So, SPOILER ALERT. For those of you who already knew that, I apologize for the interruption. Now that that's out of the way:

The movie begins with a flashback of Danny's (Sandler's) wedding day. Big-haired and big-nosed, Danny overhears his bride-to-be cackling about what a loser he is to her bridesmaids. We can only assume that he jilted her because the next scene features Danny, still wearing his tux and wedding ring, sitting alone at a bar when the "it girl" of the night approaches him. He tells her his hard luck story and they leave together, to the horror of all the other guys who've been chasing her. Emboldened by this fluke, Danny continues wearing his wedding ring to lure younger women into one night stands. Despite this sleazy behavior, you can't help but see Danny as a wounded nerd in shark's clothing. (I almost said wounded sheep but thought better of it considering that particular animal's role later in the movie. I won't go into it, leaving you at least one suprise.)

Fast forward to present-day Danny. A wealthy forty-something plastic surgeon, he's shed his enormous nose but not his philandering. The most constant woman in his life is his salt-of-the-earth assistant Katherine (Jennifer Aniston), an unassumingly pretty divorcee with two kids. Smart and no-nonsense, she has no qualms about chiding her boss for his womanizing ways, illustrating the easy camaraderie between them.

But the story doesn't get rolling until Danny meets Palmer (Brooklyn Decker), a blond bombshell schoolteacher who demands to meet his soon-to-be ex-wife before beginning a relationship with him. That's right. Palmer doesn't find out about Danny's fake wedding ring until after they hook up, and unlike the women before her, she's less than charmed. Danny turns to Katherine for advice, and she helps him hatch a scheme in which she plays his future ex-wife. In true My Fair Lady fashion, the glasses come off, the shopping begins, and Katherine shows up for lunch with Danny and Palmer exuding Aniston's easy glamour.

Despite a comedy of errors, the meeting is a success. The farce should end there but doesn't on account of Katherine taking a call from one of her kids. Promoted from soon-to-be-swinging-single to soon-to-be-single-dad, Danny finds himself bound for Hawaii with Palmer, Katherine, the kids, and his odd cousin Eddie (the ever-creepy Nick Swardson) - all because Katherine's son complains that Danny never took him there to swim with the dolphins. I always think movies are better when the characters go on vacation. Well, funny movies in which the hilarity can be heightened by unfamiliar luxury surroundings. (Serious movies not so much. In those, foreign locales are often prime sites for characters to be killed. Or cheat on their spouses. Or have very unfunny life-changing revelations.) Just Go with It is no different, brimming with pina colada-fueled catastrophes. Highlighting the hijinks are Nicole Kidman, who plays Devlin, Katherine's college arch enemy, and Dave Matthews, who serves as her equally annoying husband. Determined to impress Devlin, Katherine introduces herself as Danny's wife instead of his assistant. This, of course, complicates the whole ex-wife story created for Palmer's benefit while solidifying Katherine's relationship with Danny. Simultaneously masquerading as his almost ex-wife and current happily married wife undeniably draws her closer to him, which as any romantic comedy fan knows, is ultimately what she wants. But she doesn't come off as conniving. Katherine's simply known Danny a long time, and they have a comfy rapport that's increasingly shown to be chemistry.

I think you probably know how this one ends up.

The critics were really hard on Just Go with It. But then, aren't they hard on everything? In this case the main targets were bathroom humor, manipulative characters, and lazy scripting. One almost-kind reviewer even went as far as to say "Oscar material it isn't." I think we already knew that. And honestly, who cares? After a week on the clock people don't want to solve life's problems. They want to laugh and see happy endings.

A Whole Trio of Somethings New and Sparkly Made by a Girl in Her Pajamas

Fabulous Felt Strawberries Necklace

Fabulous Felt Cupcakes Necklace

Fabulous Felt Pineapple Paradise Necklace

I'm the girl in her pajamas. Or at least I was up until now. For the past four days I've been happily confined to my home courtesy of the recent blizzard. Brigantine received a record twenty-two inches, as I learned from local news reports accompanied by shots of some lost soul lounging on the snow-covered beach (there's always one). Today I'll be the one venturing out, bringing my pajama streak to an end (not that I'll be driving on those still possibly-treacherous roads. That happy honor goes to the bf.). I have to say, although I missed coming up with daily outfits, I really got into the whole hibernation thing. So much so that it made me revisit my dream of someday becoming a recluse. (Kidding. Sort of.)

Being housebound, I got down to business making new fabulous felt creations and became so productive that I ran out of my beloved permanent adhesive glue. The stuff has a tendency to erupt in skin-burning bubbles when I squeeze the bottle too hard, and I think that's how I lost so much of it (I have the raw hands to prove it). Yesterday I had the wild notion that I could persevere using a half-baked hybrid of Gorilla Glue and Elmer's, but my hopes were dashed when the jungle-themed necklace I was working on began to unravel. The bf and I are making an A.C. Moore run in a bit so I can restock before we meet my parents for dinner.

As always when I craft, I needed to find something semi-entertaining to watch. This is only a minor challenge on the weekends, but as I quickly learned, becomes a nearly insurmountable task during the week when soap operas, infomercials, and court TV reign supreme. So, I reverted to On Demand, zeroing in on the bargain movies section. The two best candidates were Adam Sandler's animated Eight Crazy Nights and Dude, Where's My Car? Oddly, I'd never seen either, and I sat there in a sea of felt shavings debating. Dude had Ashton Kutcher. But Nights was more seasonally appropriate. Dude was probably really offensive, but then Nights could be too juvenile. Dude, Nights, Dude, Nights, circled the argument in my head. Finally, I picked Eight Crazy Nights, mostly because I knew I wouldn't want to watch it in say, April, or whenever this pressing dilemma reared its head again.

For the record, Eight Crazy Nights turned out to be pretty offensive in its own right. But I'm not ashamed to admit that I didn't mind.