Rubber Ducky, you're the one...

"You're an odd duck, and I'm an odd duck too," I say to Robert.

"Together, we make an even pair," he replies.

(That's right people: odd duck cake toppers courtesy of Ebay.)

NCMA

I went to the North Carolina Museum of Art last weekend because I like art and because it has a new facility and because it had a Norman Rockwell exhibit. Growing up, my grandparents had a Norman Rockwell book that I would just pour over and whenever a free Norman Rockwell calendar came to my parents, I snatched it up. I was all about Norman Rockwell.

I was also all about going to the exhibit, but I wasn't sure of my grown up opinion of Rockwell. I used to like him. Did I still? See: The man is as cliche as cliche can be and his pictures are mostly of small-town white families. Terribly idealized. Terribly sentimental. Etc.

Here's what I learned: I still like him. And he is terribly sentimental, but you know what? It works on me. And also: His pictures have a good deal of truth to them. When I saw "Girl at the Mirror" I teared up because the girl is the age I was when I loved Norman Rockwell. The painting is from the '50s, but put a modern day movie star in there instead of Jane Russell and it could have been from this morning. Girls stare in mirrors and critique themselves even though they're already beautiful. That's the way things go. Adult women do it too. Norman Rockwell, you sure do know America.



So I came out of the exhibit thinking: I still like Rockwell. He's a great storyteller. He's funny. He's a heart string tugger, and there's nothing wrong with that.

But then Robert and I went for a walk outside the museum and saw just amazing, giant, modern art plopped in real life as though it belonged there and my heart soared and I realized, this is really my thing. I've grown out of Rockwell. Sure, he tugs the heart strings and makes me smile, but there's something about crazy and clean modern art that just makes my heart *fly* that just makes life better that just makes me feel alive.

As seen here:

Quotable Calvin

"It's a magical world, Hobbes, ol' buddy...Let's go exploring!"

Style o' Giles

Buffy the Vampire Slayer was the one in the short skirts and low-cut tops kicking vamp butt, but I prefer Giles' fuddy-duddy, old-man English style. Look at him looking all dapper! He wears vests! And worriedly takes off his glasses! He looks like he smells like old books and earl grey tea.

The polka-dotted tie is a personal favorite of mine. Being a little whimsical, Giles? How out of character!

And he totally switched up his look when a spell turned him into his younger self -- Ripper, the punk/criminal/sexy-pants. A white T-shirt is always a fabulous look. Especially when accompanied by a James-Dean attitude.

I must admit, however, that Giles does not always look fab. Sombrero? Not so much. Although, everything is forgiven on Halloween.

Cabiria

Cabiria is my favorite Fellini character. She's sweet but also a spitfire. She's a hooker with a heart of gold and somehow manages not to be a cliche. She smokes too much. She has weird painted on eyebrows. She wears fur with stripes. She is fabulous.

long gloves

Long gloves are fantastic. They're dramatic. They're classic. They're all woman, baby.

Grace Kelly wore long gloves and then she won an Oscar and married a prince.


Audrey Hepburn paired long gloves with a Givenchy dress, tiara and cigarette holder and created an iconic image loved copied by millions of little black dress wearers.



Miss Piggy rocked her purple gloves on a regular basis and proved that long gloves work well on strong, sassy ladies who know what they want (Kermie!).

The final murder mystery

Last spring, I discovered a website dedicated to murder mystery parties and went crazy for it mostly because I love games and themes and dressing up. I daydreamed about it a lot, and when I saw friends, I discussed how I wanted to have a murder mystery party and wouldn't that be fun and they all agreed: yes it would.

But murder mystery parties are small and intimate so one party would not do. So I planned three with three different casts (with some minor overlapping). Tomorrow is the last and final 2010 murder mystery party. It was planned this summer when I had my busy friends Karen (fabulous, abstract-expressionist artist and gallery owner and business what-not doer) and Sarah Paris (rougeneck-blogging, sparkly-eyeshadow-wearing, on-the-go driven diva) over to my house for Thai food (cause I cook now, what what?) and catching up and I opened up the murder mystery website and asked: "Which mystery on what date? Because this *must* happen."

And so plans were made for a Nov. 13 celebration of "The Waskers" a post-Oscar party filled with mystery and MURDER.

I was originally planning to simply host and not play, but some people could not come (Not Sarah P. and Karen of course. They've had it on their calendars since August.) and so I took on the role of "the strange diva," which, quite honestly, I was coveting back when I offered it to someone else.

A year ago, I bought a giant, wide-brimmed black hat and swore I would wear it and then never wore it. I think I will wear it tomorrow. With pearls. Or maybe a thrift store prom dress. We shall see.

And while this is the last 2010 murder mystery party hosted at the Grano-Miller household, it will not be the last murder mystery party ever. Robert and I already have grand plans of writing our own murder mysteries with parts tailored to our friends. The theme possibilities are endless! Thinking about it makes my head explode! With joy! And firecrackers! When will it take place? The 1980s? The Great Depression? The future? Where will it take place? A luxury train? A haunted castle? The bottom of the sea? Who will it star? Divas? Gangsters? Yo mama?

Terribly exciting, I tell you.