Happy Haunt Jaunt: Jackets and Jack-o-Lanterns

Halloween means spooky times, tons of treats, and a chill in the air.  It's the chill that brings the thrill, of course -- the thrill of breaking out jazzy jackets!  Um, don't you mean costumes, oh esteemed Tote Trove lady?  No.  I mean jackets.  Because a jacket is a lot like a costume -- colorful, fun, and cape-able of turning anyone into anything.  Here's the cream of my top layer crop.  Two are oldies but goodies; one is as fresh as roadkill.   

This first jacket is a Wild Fable favorite.  Sure, it's more Saved by the Bell than Satan's ball.  But I'm willing to let that slide because of my hair horns. 

And here's the new kid on the blog, decked out in day-glo.  Sorry, Joseph A. Banks, but Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat has claimed this happening hoodie.  It's from Dolls Kill by way of Delia's.  Which, if you ask me, is pretty Halloweeny.  Most Dolls merch is mucho edgy.  To give you an idea, it comes packaged in black bags emblazoned with a knife-wielding Kewpie.  It's a sight that never fails to unnerve me.

And finally, faux fur fires up stormy denim.  Black is a fitting shade for this day of undead and its feathered friend -- or perhaps I should say feathered Poe.  Nevermore, That's So Raven, said some Nickelodeon exec at some point one day.  Mr. Foe (for I've made my decision; this foul fowl is not to be trusted) is the only frightening thing in this picture.  Unless you count my closed-eye smirk of a creepy doll impression.  Watch out, Kewp, I'm coming for you.

You could probably tell by my tongue-in-cheek tone, but I like Halloween only a little.  And even then, it has to be playful as opposed to spine tingling.  Observe the quirky cute cover of this murder mystery in which a mean woman dies in a way that's not at all gory.  

The husband, on the other hand, likes Halloween a lot, and the darker and more macabre the better.  (Who do you think bought that raven?)  This is his beloved reproduction of a Van Gogh self-portrait that haunts our hallway every October. 

The husband and I agree that Vinnie was a sad, misunderstood man who died way too young.  Even if he did want to marry to his cousin.  

Speaking of which . . . whoa.  It's a Poe-Van Gogh crossover.  Two dark dudes and artistic geniuses who had the hots for their uncles' offspring.  Who would win in a weird, tortured, incestuous-even-though-it-was-olden-times, dead guy contest?

My money's on Vinnie.  People who cut off their own ears mean business.