Maybe it’s because my husband works for the company that’s releasing the movie, or because I’m given to flights of cuckoo fantasy when performing tedious culinary tasks. Or maybe I’m just, you know, losing it. You be the judge.

But when the Salad Hands I ordered from Sur La Table arrived last week, I became Wolverine. (If you have never seen an X-Men movie, you will not know who this is. Shame on you. Google him.)

These Salad Hands look awful cute online; white plastic with handles that come in a variety of cheerful colors. But when they arrive and you hold them, you can’t help but feel like that iconic mutant superhero, whose distinguishing feature, on display now in posters everywhere, is the scary, metallic version of my adorable kitchen tool.

If only I could, along with the Hands, aquire some of Wolverine’s special skills. 1) When wounded, he heals instantly. This would have come in handy the other day when, with my usual kitchen impatience. I sliced my finger instead of the carrot. 2) He never ages. Rushing around for centuries, growling and stabbing people and he still looks like, well, Hugh Jackman.

It’s not such a bad way, by the way, to get through the dinner hour. Grab those Salad Hands and flip your imagination switch: tossing a salad becomes much more interesting. I just have to try not to growl at people, which is a stretch for me even when I’m empty-handed.

(Click here for the recipe for Wolverine Salad.)

BLOG4-17-09Bruce

Our seats at the Sports Arena were a lot better last night than they were at the same venue 22 years ago (the Tunnel of Love tour—I still have the t-shirt). But you coulda been in the nosebleed seats and still gotten a hit of concert-induced euphoria. No matter where you’re sitting, when Bruce Springsteen’s in the room, your whole life gets rocked.

I’m hesitant to be hyperbolic in public, but what I really believe is that The Boss owns the planet.

The last time he was in L.A., Tom took one of our daughters. She later commented that she’d never seen so many old people in one place in her life. Last night was a little more multi-generational; fogies carried children on their shoulders, and Jay Weinberg, the son of Bruce’s regular drummer, Max, subbed for Dad.

But the Boss is roughly sixty years old, and Nora’s right: there’s a lotta grey hair in the mosh pit. The good news is that a Boss concert is a place where a person can let down their hair, no matter what color it is. If you’re middle-aged, you’re in the majority, and you can rock with abandon, humiliation-free. Tom and I were on our feet for two-and-a-half hours.

My new t-shirt reads: “Tramps like us, baby, we were born to run.” If Bruce is coming to a venue near you, run and get tickets. It’ll make you feel like you’ve still got a few Glory Days left in you.

I was in New York last week and went to my favorite quirky gift shop: E.A.T, on Madison Avenue. (Those of you who’ve been reading this blog since ’08 may remember that the last wacky thing I bought there was a Yodeling Pickle.)

I was picking up some Easter gifts for my daughters (shower caps with yellow ducks on them, boxer shorts with monkeys on them). However, after making my choices (excellent, n’est-ce pas?), I found something that, even for a store with eccentric inventory, was breathtakingly strange.

Squirrel Underpants.

They are 100% percent cotton and clearly designed with a male squirrel in mind. I had to buy them, even though I have no intention of attempting to dress a squirrel (or a frog or gerbil, or anybody with a three-inch waist). I just had to become an owner of such a remarkably stupid thing.

Here are some reasons to consider investing in a pair of Squirrel Underpants: 1. You are looking for an economical and thoughtful gift for your hamster. 2.You have ten bucks that you just can’t stand the sight of anymore. 3.You need a conversation starter to keep handy in your purse. 4.You are a raving wingnut.

If any of those reasons ring your bell, but you don’t live near E.A.T., click here for product details and to purchase.

Not to go overboard, but I’m thinking S.U.s just might be this year’s Yodeling Pickle.

If you’re an out-of-work actor, there’s a whole new world of opportunity opening up for you in real estate. Get this:

Talk about April Fools. One of this year’s biggest was that guy who bought a house in a gated community north of L.A. called Fox Run Estates. He was impressed by the three-car garage, the landscaped acre, and the asking price of $480K.

But even more impressive was the Leave it To Beaver feel of the neighborhood. People were mowing lawns, walking dogs and grilling; the community had an all-American, lived-in feel. The neighbors invited him to a little league game, and to hear the choir at their local church.

The guy went back for a second visit, and got the same welcoming treatment. He bought.

Guess what? Turns out it was all a show, staged by a desperate realtor who hired actors, dogs, and even borrowed a local baseball team. The poor April Fool moves in to find he’s bought into what is actually an empty neighborhood.

So if you’re an actress looking for a gig, send that broker at Fox Run your resume. If you want to get competitive, offer to bake cookies to give to the buyer as a “neighborly” gesture, just like June Cleaver would have done. If you need a good cookie recipe, click here.