Picture Sunday

Well, happy 2011 to you all, my blogees. And welcome to the first of what will hopefully be more than five or so Picture Sundays for the year.

As most of you know if you read the below blog, I had some distinct plans for New Year's Eve. The DeepFatFriar and I were attending a Murder Mystery Night. The hinkiness was starting to set in about the time I wrote about it.

And it all started off on quite the weird note.

DFF and I arrived at the Unitarian Church, where the event was being held. There was no electricity in the church, and in fact none in the whole neighborhood. The hosts of the event had done some checking, and were told it wouldn't be back on until about 9:30 that night. And so the whole party, including wine, dinner, dessert, suspects, props, and possibly victim, though I didn't personally see him myself, had to pack up and move elsewhere. The hosts asked if it would be OK to just do it at their apartment.

And so the Caravan of Murder took off to a different part of B'burg.

We began with wines and cheeses, and getting to know each other, though most people did except me, for I think they were all of the Unitarian persuasion and went to church together. They were all extremely nice and friendly folks. Then dinner and more conversation followed.

Then, my friends, it was time for the mystery to begin. And I immediately lost all hinkiness because, well, I don't know if this is stupid or not, but I had imagined this to be a thing where we were all like actors. You know, that we'd be up moving around, walking and talking like we were on Broadway.

Turns out, it wasn't like that at all. We sat around the table, just like we were playing any other game (and you know, I like games), and we were given our character booklets, secret clues, and the rules of the game.

And so the fun began. And it was fun, it was fun because these people suddenly became their characters. Accents were adopted, gestures, and before long we were cracking each other up. At the beginning of the game we were all given pads on which to write down clues, and I finally abandoned that completely, because I was just having so much fun watching everyone.

The "secret clues" were pieces of paper to be opened at various times by various characters, and were pieces of evidence that incriminated another member of the game. And every time one of those clues showed up, and someone found a way to work it in - "Oh, and speaking blackmail, maybe this would be of interest to everyone!" - with a clue being flung open.

So for three rounds and a couple of hours, we all pointed fingers at the others and defended ourselves as we tried to figure out who killed Barry Underwood, owner of the Underwood Wine Estates.

Could it have been Ralph Rottengrape, the victim's cousin and new owner of the winery? Or could it have been his wife, Tiny Bubbles, who uses her maiden name because she can't stand to be known as Tiny Rottengrape, who was also the victim's fiance at the time of his death?

























Perhaps it was Otto Von Schnapps, German wine merchant, who likes wine, women, and money? The latter a lot. But maybe it was Papa Vito, who came from Italy to the Underwood family 60 years ago with a root from his father's grape vine, and who has lived at the estate and worked it for years.

























But there's always Heddy Shablee, owner of the Shablee Vineyards, who was the victim's arch rival. Since his death, a series of unfortunate circumstances have come Heddy's way. And then, it could have been Marilyn Merlot, once queen of the Wine Festival who went on to become a movie star - and may have been the last person to see the victim alive. One thing's for sure. It wasn't Bud Wizer, the FBI agent who's on the case.
























Well, looks like I should have been taking those notes I quit taking, because when it came my time to guess the murderer, I was stumped, and in the end I fell for all the red herrings. In fact, only one person guessed the murderer - and got it for all the right reasons! And that person, and I doubt it will surprise anyone, was the DeepFatFriar himself! Or, shall I say, Herr Von Schnapps?

After it was over, we were served an absolutely fantastic homemade tiramisu by the hosts, had some more friendly conversation, then it was time for everyone to head back to reality. DFF had to get home, and I landed at Mr M's, where we watched the ball drop and I fell asleep not long after.

But it was fun, and I did something I'd never done before.

Oh, one of the partygoers liked my prop, a basket of Heddy's new vintage, and wanted a picture. And that's my secret clue telling everyone that I wasn't so much a vintner as a money laundress.
























So there you go. What's a little money laundering? At least I wasn't a murderer.

Happy week.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Oh, I guess I could tell you. It was Papa Vito.