Demo: 18-34

It never strikes me that I'm firmly lodged in a specific demographic as much as it does when I'm watching a car commercial. Yes, I know, most commercials are geared toward the coveted 18-34 age group (which I'll be in for another four years, thankyouverymuch), and we love us some Betty White getting tackled in a backyard football game, or an indie female singer crooning about how much she loves life. (Double points if she's backed up by a ukulele!)

But now, I've got this other thing going, which is lending things a whole 'nother shade. I'm going to be a parent. And dammit if we don't all want to be the coolest parents in the world, not those old fuddy-duddy parents we've seen in other generations.

Or, so the car companies believe of us.

Almost every car commercial I've seen in the last year or so has an absolutely adorable child, either telling its parent how to use their car or rolling their eyes at how lame their (or other kid's) parent's car is. Tag line: "Just because you're a parent doesn't mean you have to be lame." We're clueless, Toyota tells us, but we don't have to be the geeks we were made fun of for being in high school! Or, we don't have to worry about becoming geeks, just because we've procreated!
 
It all started, of course, with this commercial, which I admittedly thought was cute.


Yes! I thought. Parents are people, too! But after several viewings, it all seems so...desperate. We like to shop! We wear hoodies! We play loud rock guitar while our children bang on the drums! We know the lingo and we're not afraid to be our horn-rimmed-glasses-wearing selves! We're not lame, and our children will love us! It is a far cry from other, older car ads, but I can't help but feel pandered to.

Ah, well. I'm just looking for a stroller that can fold up quickly enough to get on the bus.

You're Too Young To...

WARNING: MUCH THEATRE GEEKERY AHEAD!

I was at a discussion earlier this week with other amateur theatre critics (both professional theatre folks and supporters of the arts), and a panel of choreographers and music directors. The topic was what choreographers and music directors do, exactly, and how we can tell if they've done a good job.

All was well and good for a while. I don't see (or work on) all that many musicals, but I love the form, and it's always interesting to learn about other people's jobs, especially when it's something I could never do to save my life. Like, I absolutely understand what a music director does, but I didn't have a clue as to how, as a member of an audience, to tell if their vision was coming across.

THEN. The gentleman in front of me raised his hand to ask a question. He asked how the choreographers feel if their audience doesn't intimately know the historical period they've drawn from for their choreography. I get the question; it came after a statement from one of the choreographers about what happens when dance styles don't match the period of the play. (For example, imposing modern dance on a production of Singin' in the Rain.) But then, he went on to say, "I'll be 70 years old on my next birthday. My first Broadway play was...well, forever ago...I understand the history of the form. But what about these young audience members who don't?"

And I raised my hand to respond. (More after the jump...)

Well, Hello!

Hello, blog! Long time, no see. I know I've been neglectful. Here, have a bouquet of flowers and a half-eaten box of chocolates. (What? I got hungry!) Want a foot massage?

I've missed you, baby. Been thinking about you all the time. But you know how it is when you're in a relationship with a workaholic. I hope you'll have me back...

Yay for more blogging! So, what have I been doing in my long absence?

• Dramaturging plays for The Inkwell and Doorway Arts (most recently, this past weekend).
• Taking a trip to California (happy reason: wedding, sad reason: funeral--the two were unrelated, just happened to be the same weekend).
• Going to concerts (Frightened Rabbit!).
• Seeing plays.
• Teaching.
• Learning more about the ukulele.
• Gestating!

That's right, as if you didn't know already, your (soon-to-be-again-I-promise) intrepid blogger is pregnant! Really racking up the life changes in my ThirtyFlirtyFab year! I may be tempted to discuss the pregnancy and ensuing child on this blog, but I hereby make the following promises:

1. There will be no medical-type information. ('Cause, raise your hand if you need to know what's going on inside my uterus. Any hands up? No? I didn't think so.)
2. The pregnancy and ensuing child will not be the sole subject of this here blog.

I have more dramaturgy gigs coming up, an insight on ageism in the world of play criticism, work-related musings, and hopefully more pictures of food-type yumminess. I'm back, baby!

Cupcakes!

We take a break from our regularly scheduled Staycation posts (I promise to write about our awesome Day Four at Mount Vernon very soon!) to bring you pictures of...CUPCAKES!

In the last two weeks, I've baked two batches of cupcakes, my latest non-ukulele-related obsession. The most recent were orange(-ish) with orange buttercream frosting. The cake was particularly moist and delicious, but I had to deviate from the prescribed buttercream recipe, because I couldn't find the required orange flower water for the life of me. I'm incredibly curious, so if anyone knows where to find some in a brick-and-mortar near Silver Spring, I'd love some intel! Otherwise, I'll turn to these here interwebs.

The tastiest cupcakes came last week, when I baked to impress some out-of-town guests. (Yes, even husband's former college roommate/our best man/great guy and his awesome wife deserve to be impressed every now and then.)

I made vanilla cupcakes with raspberry jam running through, and a vanilla buttercream with raspberries plopped on top. Enjoy the picture:

Yum! Will have to make these again sometime soon. Slight modification next time (which the recipe actually calls for, but I left out): cut a hole in the top of the cake and plop some more raspberry jam in there before frosting. Oooo.

Staycation: Day Three

In which Jenn and Jake actually get to go to the Botanical Garden and traipse around the Mall in the rain.

What a full day of sightseeing on Wednesday! The great thing about staycating in mid-August is that the town isn't as full as it might be otherwise; families are getting ready for back-to-school, so vacations have pretty well ended; most camps are out of session, so there are fewer field trips; and the locals are still out of town. All of this led to many fewer tourists than I had originally anticipated, which was awesome.

After the jump: the Botanical Gardens, Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian Museum of American History, and the Freer/Sackler Galleries (links and pictures included). All within a few compact blocks on the Mall!

Staycation: Day Two

In which Jenn and Jake run around Gallery Place (and other galleries) and apparently don't know what time things close!

We planned on seeing a lot on Day Two of the Staycation. (Not as much as Day Three, but that's another post.) The goal was to head out to Gallery Place, hit up the National Portrait Gallery, get some lunch in Chinatown, head down to both the East and West wings of the National Gallery, and then to the US Botanical Garden for a nature-y close to our day. And we accomplished most of that...Be advised, if you go to the Botanical Garden, it closes at 5:00. The website says 7:00, but it doesn't specify that the outside part closes at 7, while the inside part closes at 5. No big, we went back this morning, but it was still a chunk of time walking in the DC summer-hot-n-humid air.

We had a great time at the galleries, though...details and pictures after the jump!

Staycation: Day One

The idea was multi-fold:

1. I had to burn up at least a week of vacation time before the fiscal year ends on the 31st.
2. Going someplace costs too much money.
3. People spend tons of money to visit DC.
4. I can get to DC for a pittance on the Metro.
5. There's stuff I've never seen in my own area.

True, I came to the area at least once every other year on field trips in school (even "lobbied" for gun control to Senator Mikulski when I was, like, twelve). And, yes, I lived in DC for ten years before moving five minutes away in MD. But there comes a time in every urban dweller's life when they stop going to do touristy things, no matter how awesome they are.

And so, my summer staycation was born! I wanted to visit sites I've either never been to, or hadn't been in a long time. The itinerary:

Monday
Day o' Journalism (Newseum, then home to watch Citizen Kane, which, no, I'd never seen, shut up)

Tuesday
Gallery Place Day (National Portrait Gallery, lunch in Chinatown, quick walk to the National Gallery of Art)

Wednesday
Smithsonian Day (Botanical Gardens, American History, American Indian, and the Freer)

Thursday
Day trip to Mount Vernon

Friday
Day trip to the National Arboretum, and then catch-up on whatever else we feel the need to see

And with Jake working from home this summer, I have a perfect tour group of two. After the jump...How I spent my Monday!

The Many Loves of Donald Draper

Mad Men is such a great show, and I'm looking forward to blogging about it every week. I don't want to do a recap, though--that seems to be too par for the course, and besides, I couldn't possibly do it better than TLo. So, instead, I'm just going to post my random musings about things that I've been fixated on.

Tonight: hair color.

Something has been striking me as odd about the women this season. It's not that Betty is a bad mom (we knew that already.) It's not that Peggy is way more headstrong and assertive than we've seen her in the past (a lot can happen in a few months and a change of venue). I finally put my finger on it yesterday: there are more blondes this season than we've ever seen before.

Don was married to Betty--the epitome of the blonde early-sixties housewife--for years. And besides her, we never saw him with a single blonde. Not one...except Anna Draper (more about her later). As far as I can recall, all of the women he's related with except Joan (more about her later) have been brunettes. And that's completely changing this year. After the jump is my breakdown of the women in Don Draper's life, categorized by hair color. Just see if you notice the same pattern I did...I put way too much thought into it. :)

With Kindness

Today was a very full day, for reasons I'd rather not get ingot in a public forum. But something really nice happened--like, jaw-droppingly nice--and I just have to share. :)

I was picking up a prescription from CVS, and the girl behind the counter complimented my hair color. I just redid it on Friday--red fades so darned quickly--and it does look pretty good, if I do say so myself. So, I told her, "It's L'oreal 6R."

"Really?" she asked. (As though she couldn't believe she could have this color for $8.00.)

"Sure. I can get you a box if you want." It was, like, two aisles over.

"Really?" she asked again. I nodded and she thought for a moment. "You're not from DC, are you?"

"Well, I lived in DC for twelve years or so, but I live in Silver Spring now."

"Oh, ok." She started counting out pills, and I ran over to the hair color aisle and pulled a box for her. You know, just so she could see what it looked like. We talked more about hair for a little bit (she wasn't sure red would look good on her; I gave her my mantra that hair is the one thing you can change, and if you don't like it, dye it some other color) while she typed my info into the computer, and then she handed me the prescription. I asked if I could pay with my FSA card, and she said...

"You know, you were so nice, I took off the co-pay for you."

I think I must have just silently blinked a few times, and then I remembered her scanning a CVS gift card. I think I thought she was just scanning one of the behind-the-counter CVS scan cards. But, no, she COVERED MY CO-PAY. I told her that was incredibly sweet, and she said, "You were nice to me. No one is ever nice to us. Like, one percent of people, but they're not as nice as you. So, thank you."

I thanked her very much and left the store. And then I called my mom, one of the two people (along with my dad) who taught me to always be nice to strangers. It really pays sometimes.

When Are We?

As you and the rest of the pop-culture-aware universe know, the fourth season of Mad Men started last Sunday. We found ourselves at Thanksgiving dinner, 1964, as Betty and the children ate with Henry's family and Don...got slapped in the face by a hooker. Because he asked her to. November 1964 means that we've missed the Beatles on Ed Sullivan (which we would have thought would be a big deal, since SCDP deals heavily in TV ads at this point), the release of the Rolling Stones' first album, and the opening of the New York World's Fair.

So, what are going to be the big pop culture/historical moments this season? Here are my guesses:

• Some mention of Lenny Bruce's obscenity trial
• Malcolm X's assassination
• Some mention of the TV broadcast of Rodgers & Hammerstein's Cinderella
•  Bloody Sunday/the march on Selma
•  Dylan goes electric/releases Highway 61 Revisited (definitely something about the changing music scene)
• Cigarette advertising banned on British TV
• Maybe a mention of the creation of the Pillsbury Doughboy, like the parsing of the iconic VW ad a couple of seasons ago
• The Northeast blackout of 1965 could have very interesting plot implications

And, of course, Joan's husband gets drafted and either (a) killed in Vietnam, or (b) flees to Canada. Either way, we get our swinging single Joanie back! (And I'm rooting for the former. He's not a good person.)

Of course, some of these aren't the most important things that happened in 1965 (some of them are), but I think they're the events that are most likely to have some bearing on the world of SCDP. I'll be happily watching to find out if I'm right.

Out on a Limb

So, I had no idea I even had a 31x31 list. I mean, I guess I don't, really. Nowhere have I written down--or even seriously thought about--a list of 31 things I'd like to do before I turn 31. But I realized this morning that next month, I'll be doing two things that certainly would go on my list if I had one: being in a dance recital and learning to play the ukulele.

First things first: I've been taking belly dance lessons for a couple of semesters, and in the back of my head, I've always thought it would be cool to get enough confidence to perform in front of people. Though I firmly believe in my workplace mantra of "process, not product," and I really am taking classes for the pure learning and doing something new with my body, I find myself back in the world of remembering choreography and looking at costumes.

I took nine years of ballet, five years of jazz, and one fateful college semester of tap (shoutout to Aly in Cali!), and I always say that what I really learned from those classes was that I can't dance. But here I am! Turns out that while I'm still most definitely a beginner, belly dance (or raqs sharki) is the one kind of dance I've ever been the least bit comfortable with. I actually kinda understand it. It's pretty intuitive, and I've always been good at isolations. And so, next month, I'm going to be in my first recital since 1992. Eep!

Of course, my dad says that since I'm playing the ukulele now, I should switch to hula dance. Which brings us to...

Second things second. For a while now, I've been enamored with ukulele music. Particularly cute girls with ukuleles. (I've previously posted my current very-favorite song.) So, I thought, why not join the ranks of girls with ukes? So what that I've never, ever been able to play an instrument with any sort of aptitude, ever. Not the flute I picked up in fourth grade; not the guitar I bought in 2003 and put aside a month later in a fit of early-twenties it's just too hard! pique. I started browsing ukulele websites (not sure why I didn't think there would be an amazing amount of sites out there), bought a cheap uke, signed up for a class, and got a book from which to start learning.

So, now, I have an absolutely adorable bright yellow Makala ukulele with a dolphin bridge, and the beginnings of callouses on my left-hand fingers. I have nowhere near any sort of technique at all. But I can play seven chords, and fingerpick five notes on the A string and three notes on the E string. I'm even starting to figure out how to read sheet music! I'm excited about the lesson I'm taking in a couple of weeks; it'll be really helpful to have someone show me how you're supposed to strum, instead of the fake-strumming I've been doing. My goal is to be able to do a song for our summer camp talent show next year, and I think I'll definitely be able to do it.

Maybe I should start a 31x31 list...I'll think about it. :)

Since I'm apparently terrible at imbedding videos at the moment, here are some links to three girl-with-ukulele songs I'm into at the moment:

Garfunkel & Oates: "I Would Never" (slightly NSFW)
Sophie Madeleine: "You Are My Favourite"
Danielle Ate the Sandwich: "Handsome Girl"

Long Weekend...

Photo courtesy washingtonpost.com reader TiffanyWcool.

Due to the storm that hit the area on Sunday, I'm on day five of an unforeseen long weekend. (Hooray!?) I did leave for work at my regular time yesterday, and got a call from my boss at 7:30am that went something like this...

BOSS: Hey, are you coming to work today?
ME: Yeah, I'm on the bus now. I'll be there in ten minutes. Why?
BOSS: Well, we don't have power, and we're trying to figure out what we should do. So, um, I'll buy you some coffee at [local cafe].
ME: Sounds good.
(They both hang up their phones. Curtain.)

Why, yes, I do occasionally write plays for a living. Was that evident by my spectacular pacing, and command of dialogue? :)

Of course, what should have been a quick cup of coffee on the company dime turned into a long cup of coffee on the company dime, followed by hanging around outside of the theatre letting parents and students know that we couldn't get into the building either (and, no, ma'am, I'm sorry, if we don't have power, it means we can't call or email our patrons), and then going to Starbucks--on the company dime--with some of my coworkers until finally realizing the power wasn't going to be restored any time soon and calling it quits for the day. My boss (a really good guy) drove me home.

I got to hang out with Jake, which was awesome, and also take a good, long nap. Also awesome.

This morning, I woke up at my summer-usual 5:00am, took a shower, got dressed, and hunkered down until I could figure out whether or not I had to go to work. (Jake and I tried to watch the season finale of You're Cut Off--which, by the way, is amazing--but VH1 cut out 20 minutes in, so that didn't happen.) I did not have to go to work. But we were all "on call" until 11:30, when we would figure out if we could open for afternoon classes.

Nope, still no power.

So, five-day weekend, it is! So far, I've used this time to practice my ukulele (I can successfully play 6-8 chords now!), ice my sprained ankle (sports injury, don'tcha know?), and do a mini-tour of Silver Spring with Jake, Hollie, and Adri. I love impromptu middle-of-weekday hanging out! We had lunch at Thai Derm (insane weekday lunch deals), browsed our local Thai Market (we get some good ingredients from here, but also love to look at things like dried squid balls), and stocked up our fridge with a trip to Fenwick Beer & Wine.

I'll wake up at the same time tomorrow, and bide my time again until I hear whether or not we have power at the theatre, and whether or not I have to go to work. Whee!

Mod, Man

At this time of summer, and blogging from the couch, a young (ha!) girl's thoughts turn to the wonders of television. With Lost over forever, and our "Must See" shows on hiatus until Fall (which, by the way, why are some channels still adhering to the old "season" lineup, while others have year-round new programming?), Jake and I have been working our way through TV shows on DVD. We don't get HBO, and so to date, we've gone all the way through Curb Your Enthusiasm, and we're moving at a rapid pace through The Sopranos. We've also just started with season 1 of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.


While I've been really enjoying all of the above, what really gets me is the '60s. It took us a while to get through the 17 episodes of The Prisoner, but wow, what a ride! The series--and yes, I'm talking about the original 1967 Partick McGoohan series, not last year's Jim Caviezel retread--is about a secret agent who resigns from his job and wakes up on a mysterious island, stripped of his identity, and called only "Number 6." His adversary is an ever-rotating line of "Number 2"s, who try to find out why he resigned from his government job. And all Number 6 wants to do is escape.

A lot of shows owe something to The Prisoner; it goes without saying that Lost took quite a few idea and motifs from the show set on a mysterious island with far-out sci-fi mythology. My personal favorite is the Simpsons episode "The Computer Wore Menace Shoes," where Homer is taken to a mysterious island after he makes up a rumor that turns out to be true. The episode was funny the first 20 times I saw it, but now it makes so much more sense. Right down to the Patrick McGoohan cameo! (The Simpsons also used The Orb to do in Hans Moleman in another episode, when Marge was trying to escape from the Movementarians.) And the storytelling structure reminds me a lot of the structure in Neon Genesis Evangelion: the reluctant hero tries with all his might to escape his "destiny," through test after test from unlikely science and technology, until finally the narrative becomes bizarre and existential, leading the audience to question every theory they might have had.

It's one of the most mod things I've ever seen, from the costumes to the set and dialogue to the lava lamp-like projections defaulted in front of Number 2 when he's not watching Number 6.

Of course, for the early 1960s, you can't beat my real Obsession of the Moment, Mad Men. Yes, it's everyone's obsession right now, but we finally made our way through seasons 1-3, and I'm so excited for season 4 to start on Sunday, and see what's going on at Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce.

I won't recap for you; if you're going to watch it, you probably already know what's going on. My favorite place for analysis is Tom and Lorenzo (formerly Project RunGay). They recap every episode with great humor and insight, but my favorite feature on the site is their Mad Style analysis. They take a character and break down the choices made by the costume designer. It's unquestionable that the costumes on the show are spectacular, and I've never been happier to have the kind of figure in vogue during the late'50s/early '60s, and my grandmothers' hats and gloves. Joan Holloway is my idol.

I told a friend of mine the other day that I've loved watching the series on DVD, and I don't know what I'll do when I have to wait a whole week in between episodes. He answered, "You do exactly what you did for Lost: go on the internet, read what people have to say, and have half-hour discussions at work."

Done.

Metro, O Metro

Photo courtesy seathogs.comhttp://seathogs.com.

There's been a lot of talk about Sunday's Post article about seat hogs in the DC Metro system. Most of the buzz centers around one question: "what is a seat hog? Because I'm not one. I swear, I'm not one. If I'm taking up a ton of room, it's for a good reason. I swear! So, what's a seat hog?"

Here's the thing (in my opinion): if you're taking up more than one seat and are unresponsive to requests for the spare seat, you might be a seat hog. This does not include people who are sitting on the aisle because their stop is coming up soon. This does not include people who are overweight and "spill over"--not my terminology--into another seat. (Side note: I'm stymied by the number of people who took this as their opportunity to rail against larger people who take public transportation. Some of the complaints are pretty sizeist and despicable.) This does not include people who are sitting in designated seats, but do not have a visible disability.

What does this include? Certainly the dude who rode my bus a couple of weeks ago, sitting on the aisle seat with his bag next to him, who mumbled something unintelligible that sounded like "um, nuh-uh, sorry but no" whenever someone asked him to scoot over...And then made way for his friend who got on several stops later. This was while many of us were standing up. He might be a seat hog.

Probably the woman who was sleeping next to me on the way home this afternoon, who was spilling over into my seat for two reasons. One: she was sleeping and kept brushing up against my arm. Two: she had her cloth portfolio (small briefcase?) shoved in between herself and the wall of the bus, causing her to spill over an inch or two into my seat. She might be a seat hog.

Absolutely the people who put their earbuds in, turn their music up so I can hear it as if I were playing the music myself, and spread their legs defiantly, taking up two seats and non-verbally daring someone to ask for a seat. They might be seat hogs.

Also: tourists. I don't know what the solution is to traveling with large suitcases, and I might be guilty of this myself on the way in or out of town. But the solution is probably not to pile your luggage into the seat next to you. Or, worse, put your bag in front of the seat next to you, so the empty chair taunts the people who are standing and holding tenuously onto the pole. They might be seat hogs, too.

Not seat hogs, but equally annoying include:

1. The dude who stood way too close to me on the bus on Monday. I was sitting, and he shoved himself, standing, into my space so close I was almost uncomfortable enough to ask him to move. I realize he was getting himself out of the way so other people could board, but seriously, dude, just move back instead of standing on top of me. Not a seat hog because he was technically standing, though he was very nearly hogging my seat.
2. People who talk way too loudly to other riders who are very close to them. Most recent offenders: three off-duty Metro employees--maybe other bus drivers--who were practically yelling so loud I couldn't hear the podcast I was listening to. At 7:00 in the morning.
3. People who don't have the balls to ask for a seat, but passive-aggressively glare at the person next to an empty seat. By and large, if you ask, someone will shove over. And if not...They might be a seat hog.

Fin.

Sweet Cuppin' Cakes!

The cupcakes I made. Messy but dee-licious.

The cupcakes seemed to be a hit amongst the general populace at work and home today and last night (respectively), and I promised one of my coworkers I'd post a recipe.

One of the cool things about the new cupcake cookbook I bought (Cupcakes from the Primrose Bakery) is the way it's organized. Yes, the photos are colorful and adorable, the narratives are well-written, the tips are useful, and the recipes are clear and concise. But it's the organization that gets my Type-A side.

The first section of the book gives recipes for "basic cupcakes." The second section gives recipes for "basic frostings." You can mix and match to your heart's delight. (And then, if you wish, move onto the "Festive and Seasonal" cupcakes and cupcakes for "Special Occasions." And "Beyond Cupcakes." Ooo.) So, I mixed and matched, and came up with vanilla cupcakes with lemon buttercream frosting. Recipes from the Primrose Bakery after the jump.

Sweets

My cupcake adventure

I went into Border's after work yesterday to see if they had any books for beginner ukulele players. (Which I am about to become. Much more about that later, I'm sure.) I "accidentally" came out with a book about cupcakes.

I've been wanting a cupcake book for a while. I've thought about just trying to adapt cake recipes for cupcakes--I'm sure it can be done, but I'm not sure about baking time, and I'm just insecure enough to be questioning my technique the whole time the cakes are in the oven. I love the cupcakes I've made before (chocolate ganache cupcakes from Cook's Illustrated were amazing), and I'm definitely going to keep making them, but it was time for something new. I wanted a book that was going to give me good basic recipes I could go back to again and again, but also give me recipes beyond the normal that I could stretch myself with.

Enter Cupcakes from the Primrose Bakery. This book is adorable: very colorful with great illustrative photos. I'm pretty sure it evokes the feeling of the bakery it comes from, but since it's in the UK, I have no way of confirming that idea. (Anyone want to bankroll a "research trip" for me to go to England and taste cupcakes?)

I tried the vanilla cupcakes with vanilla buttercream frosting last night. The recipe came together really quickly, and I didn't have to go shopping for any ingredients that weren't already in my cupboard. Of course, our oven runs either 50 degrees hot or 25 degrees cold, and I haven't yet figured out how to adjust for it. So, when the oven was running way too hot, I turned it down before popping the cupcakes in...which cycled it too cold...which led to a slightly longer baking time...which made for slightly over-browned cupcakes. Also, I filled the cups too much (it seemed like a good idea at the time), so they overflowed a bit.

Cupcakes from the Primrose Bakery

But still...delicious! They're moist, and ever-so-slightly-vanilla. This is a great basic recipe, and I'll definitely try it again and again.

The buttercream was, well, unlike any buttercream I've ever tasted before. It was cloyingly sweet, really tasting of nothing but confectioner's sugar. I chalked it up to the fact that the Brits like their sweets much sweeter than we do. But, upon closer inspection of the recipe this morning, I realized I used a quarter-cup too much confectioner's sugar! A quarter-cup! And it really made a difference. I think I'll whip up a new batch this evening and see if that helps. I couldn't frost all of the cupcakes because the frosting was too sticky, so I could absolutely try a do-over.

I'm already a huge fan of this book, and I can't wait to try more. I'm especially looking at the carrot cakes, the blueberry and cornmeal cupcakes, and the Earl Grey cupcakes. Yum!

UPDATE!
I came home last night after a trip to the grocery store, duly chastened by what I'm now calling "The Great Frosting Failure of 2010." I didn't want to try another vanilla buttercream, having been burned by the first one, so I bought a few lemons and set out to make a lemon buttercream.

Success! The frosting is creamy and tart, and came together very easily. Here are the lessons I learned:

1. Flavored frosting is just as easy, and tastes delicious on a vanilla cupcake.
2. The recipe for vanilla buttercream in the book must have been printed wrong; there's no way you can make a good buttercream with only 2 tablespoons of butter. They must have meant either "8 tablespoons" or "2 sticks." I'm up for experimentation.
3. Measuring the right amount of confectioner's sugar is very important. Also important: realizing you can hold some back. I measured the required 4.25 cups, and wound up using only 4.

Notes on Camp

Milford Mill Swim Club, the center of my summers from 1987-1995.

One may never feel more loved than she does as the summer camp she runs nears its last day. The camaraderie formed at summer camp is amazing. Kids who never met, go to different schools, in different grades, are thrown together into this weird situation, and absolutely fall in love with each other.

I had a major camp flashback the other day as I rode the bus to...well, camp. Yes, I was riding a WMATA bus instead of a classic yellow. And yes, I'm the Camp Manager, not a camper. But still. The LED sign on the front of the bus was busted and the driver had taped a white piece of paper to the windshield to let us know what route he was driving. And it reminded me so much of the signs on the buses at my camp telling us we were riding the "Red Bus" or the "Green Bus" or whatever. It's weird how something so simple can elicit such a visceral reaction.

The camp I manage isn't all that different from the one I went to when I was a kid. They're both theatre camps, four weeks long, during which you put on a play and also take classes in drama, dance, music, and art. The major difference is that the camp I manage is completely an indoor camp (save outdoor recess, when it's actually cool enough to get out there), and the camp I went to was an outdoor camp. In addition to all the artsy activities, we also had sports, and two kinds of swim: instructional and recreational. How did we do it all?

I'm constantly amazed by the kids in my camp. They have so much fun, and we put on a play in four weeks! Less than four weeks, if you count the time before they get their scripts, and the last day of camp, which is just fun-and-games. And, of course, I'm amazed by the staff--I'm not in the classroom all day like they are, and what they do is astonishing to me.

I've just been flashing back recently to singing in the music room with the dingy orange carpet (especially during the impromptu talent shows when it was raining outside), the overpowering smell of chlorine in the indoor pool, learning our blocking in the blazing heat under a striped tent, the counselors hauling our lunches in garbage bags out of an industrial-sized refrigerator, pretending to be "sick" during sports so we could play cards, spreading my towel out on the grass with my friends so we could eat lunch together like "cool kids"...and bug juice. Lots of bug juice. Flashbacks.

Camp ends tomorrow, and I'm really going to miss the kids--especially the ones who have been with us for three years and are "graduating" to our camp for older students. Good thing a new session starts tomorrow.

Beer Me a Beer

It's been a bit of a tough week. And not least of all because of an interaction I had with a patron late on the other afternoon. (Note to the general public: maybe don't yell at someone in front of her staff when she's indubitably correct, and then certainly don't curse in front of children. Probably not a good idea.) So by the time I got home, I wanted nothing more than good food, good drink, and good company.

Good thing we were having dinner with some awesome friends!

Hollie is the bar manager at The Black Squirrel--recently home of my kick-ass Thirty Flirty Fab birthday party--and really knows a thing or two. You can always count on her to bring some amazing small-batch beers and help you enjoy them in a way you never knew was possible. (I love my friends...) So, Jake cooked, Hollie brought the drink, and Adri and I joyfully went along for the ride.

Our food-and-beer pairing menu after the jump. (Don't get too jealous...We were merely tasting.)

Hawt Trendz

There are times in our lives when what the fashion-type people tell you to wear directly conflicts with what your mother always told you about how to wear clothes.

Evidence number one: leggings-as-pants. (Momma said: if you're going to wear tight pants, wear a shirt that covers your tushy.)

Evidence number two: prints layered with prints. (Momma said: prints go with solids; solids go with solids; prints don't go with prints. Unless you want to look like a crazy person.)

Evidence number three: socks with sandals. (Momma said: if you're wearing open-toed shoes, no socks, hose, or tights. Show your toes!)

I've been known to wear socks with closed-toe high heels. I like the look, it keeps my feet warm in the winter-time, and eliminates the likelihood of blisters. I especially like wearing my patchwork-look Betsey Johnson socks with aged-brown T-straps, and black socks (cable-knit with a thick white braid) with cone-heeled patent leather Mary Janes. But I haven't yet been able to wrap my head around wearing socks with sandals.

Maybe it's because I associate socks-with-sandals with a certain, um, type. (Or, as Jake put it when I told him the subject of this blog post, "Socks with sandals aren't anew trend; they've been around for men for years. It's a look that says 'I've got a ham radio and I may be a pervert.'") It's the middle-aged men at my swim club growing up. It's the tourists you see around the Mall. It usually goes with a fishing cap when you're not anywhere near the water.

But now, I'm supposed to wear socks with my strappy sandals? Because the rest of my outfit is summery, but my feet are kinda cold, maybe? I don't get it.

But if you like the look, here's a tutorial on how to do it. I guess.

Back to Life

Live free or die bear!

After an amazingly restorative long weekend in the Greater Buffalo Area, I'm back to my cozy little metropolis. Even though the weekend started off with a dead car, tons of traffic, and a little side trip to the Susquehanna Valley Mall (one of the best examples I've ever seen of the death of mall culture)--and I'll talk about that more later, probably--and even though it ended with hacked email accounts for both me and Jake, we rolled into Wales Center.

Here is what you have to do when you go to Buffalo: eat wings. With waffle cut fries. And ranch dressing. That was all I was talking about with my friends at home before I went. And for good reason. I don't eat wings here any more. But I will eat everything I can at Bar Bill. Which is usually between five and eight wings and lots of fries. And I no longer call them Buffalo wings. (It's like that joke that in China, they just call Chinese food "food.")

Also, when you go to Western New York, you have to drink beer. And drink beer I did! Maryland beer! Jake brought a case of Flying Dog to the Fourth of July (on the third) party, and it went over like gangbusters. The fireworks in East Aurora were awesome, and we got to watch them from a great location. I've been watching fireworks for thirty years, and they still amaze me. I think they're spectacular. And I'm not ashamed to gasp like a five-year-old when I watch them.

Also, when you're in that area, you simply must spend time at Vidler's. I can't express enough how awesome this place is. It's a five-and-dime, I guess, but what it really is is two floors of sheer awesome. You can get everything in the world at Vidler's, from a Girl Scout uniform to a citrus squeezer to fake vomit. A trip to WNY isn't a trip to WNY if I don't eat wings, drink beer with friends, and go to Vidler's.

The rest of our time was spent with the family, reading, swimming, playing Wii golf and actual golf in the field in front of the house. And eating lots and lots of food. It was completely restorative. I had been so stressed, I didn't know how stressed I was. This weekend (book-ended with visits to my parents' house--thanks for the car!!) was exactly what I needed.

Time to Breathe

Wow, it's been a week so far. Monday was fraught, Tuesday a bit better, and today...well, I stepped in a packet of ketchup and that's all I've been able to smell for the rest of the day, since it splashed all over my ankle, and inside the hem of my jeans. There's been so much I wanted to blog about, but I've just been so exhausted!

This has been a week of broken-down cars, camper freak-outs, hot hot heat, frantic decision-making, and oxidized hair dye, when all I wanted to do in the whole world was dye my hair. Blurg.

Yesterday was made much better by a ten-minute date with a bottle of red hair dye (a day belated, but it looks fab) and an actual date with Jake!

When I got home from work, he suggested we go to Sidebar for the Tuesday raw bar menu. It was a great idea. We've had our fair share of drinks there, but have only had bar snacks (and the occasional Chicago-style hot dog). Sidebar just got a mention in Washingtonian as your "Plan B" go-to speakeasy in the DC area, but it's my #1 pick.

Last night, I had a Classic Old Fashioned and a Sazerac, along with the raw bar dinner. I decided to be bold and try an oyster, 'cause what would a raw bar dinner be without one? I picked the smallest one (natch), and it was delicious! The oysters came with two dipping sauces, and the green one was far superior to the brown vinaigrette-y one. We also had lobster rolls (amazing!) and scallop ceviche with tortilla chips (delish!) to round out the meal. We had great seats up at the bar, and watching the bartender--Gordon?--mixing the drinks was quite a show. Will definitely be back for more raw bar action, and I can't wait to go to a Wednesday chef's night sometime soon.

So, yes, my car is dead, and children are nutty, and it's been really hot out this month, but at least there are good drinks and tasty seafood and good company (not to mention chances to fabulize oneself) to allow me time to breathe.

Date Night: Silver Spring

Still from Regretters.

Yesterday afternoon, there was an item on my Outlook calendar that said "Go Home on Time For Once!!!" Yes, that's three exclamation points. I really meant it. But after a long day of dressing like a superhero (I was one of two Wonder Woman-ses--the other was seven years old--and one of the students wore an orange wig and came as ME!), cleaning up and re-dressing a student who had an accident (par for the course for me, but I had to tell her she could pretend she was wearing Beyonce's old jeans to get her to go back to class), handling the mishegoss that comes with a fire drill, and doing my regular old job, there was no way I could actually only put in an eight-hour day.

So, there was nothing I wanted more when I got on the bus home from Bethesda than to hang out with Jake for the night. We had movie-going plans, and since my bus got stuck in earlier-than-expected traffic, I had to hit the box office for tickets before running up to the apartment to change into a dress (not wanting to wear my sweaty-from-camp Wonder Woman T-shirt out for the night), and then straight out for our date.

Totally worth it.

This week is SilverDocs at the AFI, and again, it's one of those things that would be a shame to miss considering it's right across the street from my apartment. People come from all over the world to this festival; how could I miss it?

Last night, we had tickets to Regretters, a film about two Swedish men who had gotten gender reassignment surgery to become women...and then took it back! One of them, Orlando, had a second reassignment surgery, and now considered himself a sort of "third gender," neither male nor female, but with male sex characteristics. The other, Mikael, lived as Mikaela for eight years, and still wasn't happy with who he was. In the last shot of the movie, we see him being wheeled into the OR for his second reassignment surgery.

The film was fascinating for many reasons, one of which was their rationales for getting the surgery in the first place. We usually hear stories about people "feeling trapped in the wrong body," and then feeling more complete when they have the gender signifiers they've always thought they should have. Orlando was a gay man in a time and a country where being gay was illegal. He figured life would just be easier as a woman, since he has "feminine mannerisms" anyway. Mikael learned from a young age to be scared of men, and never had satisfying interactions with women; he figured he could relate to women better if he was one. But he found that people treat women differently than they did men, he never really felt like a woman, and he still felt awkward around people; being a woman didn't turn out to be the cure-all he thought it would have been.

The movie is set up as a conversation between these two men: one who just wants to feel comfortable with himself as a human being and fade into the background, and one who loves being flamboyant and noticeable. (In Stockholm, Orlando is easily recognized as "the man in the red suit"; he wears sequins and earrings, and has his platinum hair heavily styled.) There are home movies and slides interspersed throughout the narrative, so we can see who these men are and were. The filmmaker appeared for a Q&A afterward, and it was good to hear that the movie had been embraced by the transgender community, since it was pretty controversial. I'm going to be thinking about this for a while.

The movie was preceded by I'm Just Anneke, a short film about a 12-year-old girl who is taking hormone blockers to put off puberty until she decides whether she wants to live her life as a boy or girl. The most interesting part of this movie for me was Anneke's mother declaring "I was always the fat girl who got chosen last in gym class. How could I not support my daughter, and who she chooses to be?" And "She's choosing to be who she is. I don't think I know who I am, even as a grownup."

We went to Ghar-E-Kabab for dinner afterwards. Vegetable Momo, Lamb Saag, and homemade Indian ice cream makes for a great after-movie, end-of-date-night meal.

Tonight: Stones in Exile!

The Life at Sea is the Life For Me...

It's summertime, and the living is far from easy. We've declared this summer a Pirate Summer at work since all of our shows--professional and student--are about pirates and sailors, but theatrical piracy isn't all fun and games, you know. This year, there was really no clear demarcation between the end of Spring semester and the beginning of summer; one of the projects I work on during the school year has been held over through the summer (good for the budget and for the cause of arts education, bad for my sanity), and camp crept up on me.

Good thing I like my job!

Camp started this week, and the kids are amazingly super cute. (Those adjectives should show you the extent of my brain-dead-ness at the moment. Also, the fact that I used the word brain-dead-ness.) Part of the reason I like managing the summer camp is that I get to hang out with some awesome teachers, and some pretty cool students. Sure, I'm also the one who has to deal with the parents, but we have a good relationship for the most part, and it's not too much of a schlepp.

The biggest reason I like working with the camp is that it gives me an opportunity to stretch my creative muscles and write a play. I've previously posted about the play I was writing, The Adventures of Sinbad and the Princesses from Persia, and now it's actually finished and in rehearsal! It's sort of an odd feeling, hearing kids speak and sing the words I wrote. Very interesting and a great experience, but odd nonetheless.

I'm usually on the other end of the process, editing scripts other folks have written, and gauging how natural their words sound coming from actors. This has been different from the other scripts I've written. I'm working with a new composer I've only worked with peripherally as a songwriter (there was a blackout at work last year & we wrote a song for a play my friend wrote, because we had nothing else to do). The director had a hand in dramaturging my script and helping me through a couple of drafts. (I love how involved he's been! I can't dramaturg myself, and he was incredibly helpful in helping me define the characters and find the arc of the play.)

I've also been sitting in on rehearsals the last couple of days, and have been able to have a little bit of input, which I usually don't get to do. I'm trying to do that from the perspective of a dramaturg (as in, "this makes sense in the world of the play; this doesn't") rather than from the perspective of a playwright (as in, "but this doesn't fit my vision!"--not that most playwrights are like that). I've told the director he can feel free to tell me if I'm being annoying, but he hasn't yet. :)

Yar.

Yeah, I'm a little obsessed with Peter Pan.

I previously posted about how even though I work in the theatre industry, my job can be just like every other job. For example: I work in a cube, have to deal with office politics, and agonize over whether to eat California Tortilla or deli for lunch (accessorized, of course, with the obligatory Diet Coke.) There will, inevitably, be more posts in a similar vein.

However. Here are a couple of reasons my job is not like everyone else's. One: I get to play. Two: I get to play while dressed as a pirate and doing a crappy (but effective!) accent.

Reason the first:
A few weeks ago, the wife of one of Jake's colleagues contacted me to ask if I'd be interested in leading an improv class at her temple's retreat. It should have some connection with the weekend's theme (awareness of the environment, particularly ethical eating), be somehow related to Judaism, and include about 60 students and parents, from four years old to grownup-aged.

No sweat, right?

It's tough to write a lesson plan that includes so many people, at so many ages. But somehow, we did it! Armed with my colleague Jackie, as well as a bag of musical instruments and dance scarves (and my loyal assistant Jake), we trekked deep into suburban Baltimore to lead this class. Honestly, we had no idea what we were walking into. Were they going to be into the activities? Were they expecting to watch while the kids did improv activities with us? Would everyone be able to understand and participate? How big was the space going to be?

It was awesome. The group had a really good time (I think!) and so did we. I was out of breath and sweating by the end. I love interacting with people, and when I get to work with small children, teenagers, and adults, and include them in activities that bring them together and give everyone a good time, that just makes my day. (Gross, huh?) I would gladly do it again, especially now that I actually know what I'm doing. Ha!

Reason the second:
This summer, we're doing all pirate plays at work, both in our professional family theatre, and in the summer camp I manage. What better way to kick off a pirate summer than with a pirate treasure hunt? Which, of course, entailed decking the lobby and classrooms out like pirate locales (The Jolly Roger Inn, the Shiver Me Timbers, Long John's Lagoon), and all of us dressed up like pirates. My colleagues organized the whole thing; I just showed up as the Bonny Captain Jenn to lead tour groups through the "treasure hunt."

What a great time! Again, we were all exhausted and sweaty by the end of the afternoon, but it was well worth it. We (groups of 4-25 students and parents, each led by a staffer) left on a tour every ten minutes for three hours. We defeated the Kraken (by throwing pennies into our "scholarship fountain), learned how to sword fight, solved puzzles, and ultimately "found" the treasure.

My accent was halfway between Irish and Caribbean, and I was wearing my belly dance scarf and a tri-corner hat. At work. What more could a girl ask for?

Have it Your Way

Photo courtesy washingtonian.com

This is a post about burgers. I want to put that right out there. Burgers. The most American of American foods. And they can be done really, really nicely, or really, really crappy. This post is about the former.

Last night, after a happy hour celebration in Dupont for a friend who was in town for, like, thirty seconds, Jake and I trekked back to The Spring to get dinner at 8407 kitchen bar. We ordered pretty quickly--we were hungry. I got a spinach salad with walnut oil vinaigrette, figs, blue cheese, and duck prosciutto; Jake got roasted bone marrow presented in an actual halved bone (I'm glad I tasted it, but am also glad I never have to try again); then we shared squash blossoms because the bone marrow was much smaller than we thought it would be.

I took another look at the menu after we ordered and noticed a nice-looking burger. So, I pointed it out to Jake, who pointed out in turn that we have no shortage of delicious "gourmet" burgers in our neighborhood--yet another reason it's a great place to live.

About a week ago, we ducked into Ray's The Classics for a super-late dinner. We had been in the Baltimore area later than we anticipated, and came in right under the kitchen-closing wire, putting our orders in just before 10. Even though the kitchen was probably ready to call it quits for the night, the burgers were amazing as always: juicy to the point of dripping, done extremely well (by which I mean medium-rare), with toppings to die. (That night, mine included huge slices of sauteed garlic.)

We love Ray's, but we've never eaten in the actual restaurant. Why would we, when the lounge is incredible? You can get a burger and a good drink for a very reasonable price, and the atmosphere is downright classy. Plus, the servers and hostesses remember us, which is always nice. So, fab burger number one.

We had fab burger number two earlier this week. Jake and I had some in-advance cooking to do, but we decided to get dinner out first. We went to Quarry House, the basement dive bar. Here are the things I love about Quarry House:

Photo courtesy the now-defunct Silver Spring Penguin

1. Binder menus for beer and whiskey.
2. It's a real dive, not one manufactured to attract the hipsters. (Although the hipsters do come a-flocking.)
3. The jukebox is awesome, and the customers know how to use it. Standard playlist: David Bowie, Johnny Cash, Elvis Costello, Gogol Bordello.
4. Tater tots.
5. Tater tots.
6. Tater tots.
7. Delicious huge burgers.

It's always a good time, especially when you can get a seat. Oh! And burgers are half price on Mondays, so I guess that's Thing I Love number eight. Also: the bar has been around since Prohibition, and that's how I learned that Maryland never enforced Prohibition, hence its nickname "The Free State." (It's true. Look it up.) I like bars that make me have to learn things. :)

So, no shortage of good burgers in Silver Spring. "But our dear blogger," I hear you asking me, "Whatever do you do during your work day if you have a craving for a burger?"

Oh, you silly readers! I work in Bethesda, and so I get to go to BGR Joint or, most frequently, Wing Hub. Man, I hadn't realized until now that I eat a lot of burgers. (BGR Joint does have an amazing veggie burger, and the turkey burger at Wing Hub is really good, especially with swiss cheese.)

Jake chimes in to inform me that the best burger is at Ray's. And I'm probably gonna have to agree. But there's something to be said for eating a burger with a good beer in a dank basement while listening to The Stooges. Fortunately, I don't have to choose. Although I shouldn't go to both in the same day.

Time for you to chime in! What's your favorite burger?

Be Vewwy, Vewwy Quiet; I'm Hunting...

The Post Hunt!

The third(?) annual Post Hunt took place this afternoon, and Jake and I trekked downtown to join the thousands of other folks ready to traipse their way through the Penn Quarter looking for cryptic clues. (Seriously, it's one of those events where you look around and realize...you're one of...those people: the sort of people who enjoy a super-brainy scavenger hunt on a sweaty afternoon.) We named our team "The Debbies" in honor of our fallen teammate who just had to accompany a play she composed and music-directed.

We had learned a couple of things from our venture last year: we sprayed ourselves down with sunscreen, bought big bottles of water, and packed umbrellas and sandwiches. (By the end of the thing last year, we were downright starving.) We scoured the Washington Post Magazine on the Metro, knowing that somehow or other, one of the articles--if not more--were going to relate to a clue in the Hunt.

We got to the official meeting spot in time for the announcement of the map coordinates and spent the next three hours walking around looking for answers in statues, outside of buildings, peoples' outfits, and even one misguided bush. All in all, Jake and I tallied 3.5 out of 5 correct answers (we're accepting a .5 for an answer we totally got but wrote off as way too easy) and had a fantastic time running around figuring things out.

After the jump, a play-by-play in pictures, complete with how we got the answers we got. (Besides just being geeks.)

A Little Change Will Do You Good

I found out a couple of weeks ago that I was going to have to move from my cubicle at work to another one, a whole pod away. In reality, it was only a move of about ten feet or so, but that seems really far away when you're talking about uprooting three-and-a-half years of lived-in-ness. Five of us were picked to move, and since I'm the only one who was moving to a vacated desk, I had to start the ball rolling.

In real-estate terms, I've decided I've moved to a "corner office with a window view," and I think it is a more desirable space than the one I'm coming from. I have an actual floor-to-ceiling wall, which I'm super-excited about. I come from a center-cube, so I've only ever had the regular metal walls to deal with. I want to decorate it somehow--we have a bit of freedom in our cube-decor, since we work in a creative environment. I'm thinking a decal from BLIK, but they might be a little bit out of my price range right now. But seriously, how cute would this be:

Or this:

 Or this:

So cool.


It's funny: when you work at a theatre, people assume something particular about your job. They may think that you're on stage all day, or always teaching (as per what I do), or building something, or otherwise completely active. But the reality is that we still have to deal with office politics, and the realities of cube-land. It was downright cathartic to recycle bins and bins of paper files I haven't looked at in years, and will never need...

But you'd better believe I took my red Swingline stapler.

Quirk

I love Nellie McKay. I just discovered her recently, although after I downloaded Get Away from Me, I realized I'd heard a few of the songs when the album first came out.

Anyhow, after hearing this song on Fresh Air a while ago, I made it my mission to hunt it down. A smart chick singing a satire about feminism while playing the ukelele? Sign me up!

Wanna hear it? Here goes:

How Lovely to be a Woman

Jake and I had a real grown-up dinner last night. We hosted one of his colleagues and her boyfriend, and set the table with cloth napkins and everything. Like many traditional households, the meal was fixed by the (post-semester) stay-at-home spouse, while the (all-year-round) working spouse came home pretty soon before dinner started and put in the bare minimum of work before the guests arrived. Of course, in our house, Jake is the stay-at-home spouse (he works incredibly hard most of the year, but he's in that post-semester, pre-summer work limbo right now) and I'm the all-year-working spouse. And. He's the better cook.

At one point after dessert, conversation turned to old cookbooks and the recipes inside. Jake pulled out his copy of Joy of Cooking, from 1964--a wedding gift to his parents--which boasts recipes for, amongst other things, squirrel. Complete with a "how to skin" guide, and tips on which kind of squirrel is best. (Hint: red squirrels are gamey.) The book has no pictures and is almost didactic, but it's very utilitarian and still pretty modern, even though its first printing was in the 1930s.

On the opposite end of the aesthetic spectrum is my favorite old cookbook, the 1961 edition of the Betty Crocker Cookbook. God, this thing is wonderful. I first fell in love with it at my in-laws', when my mother-in-law showed me the recipe she uses for cinnamon rolls. After coming back to the DC area, I set to work getting myself a copy. I found out--pretty unceremoniously--that a mint-condition copy could run you $400. I decided I wouldn't spend more than $45. So, to eBay I went, and after losing out on four auctions, I finally got myself a copy for $42, plus shipping.

Here's the thing. I'm sure this book has some pretty awesome recipes that really stand up to the test of time. But I haven't been able to get myself past the layout, the pictures, the amazingly awe-inspiring early-1960s-ness of the whole thing. It's I Love Lucy, it's Mad Men. I'm obsessed with the whole thing of it.

I have a nascent collection of etiquette books (both the modern kinds like Kate Spade's Manners and Occasions and eBay-ed ones like 1921's two-volume Book of Etiquette) and other volumes on femininity and what it means to be a woman. The current crown of my collection is 1846's The Young Mother.

As a third-wave feminist, I grew up with the Barbie slogan "We girls can do anything," and I'm fascinated by eras in which we couldn't even try. I constantly struggle with my love for the trappings of traditional feminism, and have been asked more than once how I can be a feminist and wear lipstick; how I can be a feminist and want to be a mother; how I can be a feminist and wear an apron. (The short answer: 'cause feminism is about choice, and that's what I choose!) But still, I try to reconcile my admiration of the past with a look toward the future. And it's hard sometimes. I have to continue to think about it.

All that said, enjoy some of the details from the 1961 Betty Crocker Cookbook after the jump...while I watch pretty people dance on TV!

This Weekend's Fresh Buys

I had an extremely successful day at the Fenton Street Market yesterday, starting with...a Scavenger Hunt win! Every week, the Market's Powers That Be hide a few items in various booths, and if you find one, you get to keep it. I, having never won anything since the Precious Moments figurine at my grandmother's Bingo game when I was seven (picture this for a second: a room full of seventy-year-old Jews vying over a Precious Moments figurine), usually don't even look for the scavenger hunt items.

But! Yesterday, my friend Debbie dragged me into a yarn booth. I have nothing against yarn, I just find knitting to be too math-centric and repetitive. So, while Debbie talked to the woman behind the spinning wheel--which was, admittedly, extremely cool--I zoned out looking at the pretty colors of yarn on the table. My eyes scanned up and down the rows of skeins, until I saw it...

The jar of Lana Bella Simpler Summer Days Tea! I was so excited!

(More excitement after the jump...I'm pretty enthused about the great stuff I got yesterday.)

To Dye For

The closest I ever come to doing anything scientific in my every day life--other than writing lesson plans--is dying my hair. I always feel like a mad scientist when I'm mixing the chemicals together, wearing the latex gloves, and watching the liquids turn from white to dark purple (usually). And so, as I sit here with the contents of a bottle of Feria on my head (a brand I haven't used in the better part of a decade), I'm thinking about the choice to be a redhead.

I'm a natural brunette, and I do think my natural hair color is pretty cute. I can't remember when I got my first set of highlights--maybe around 15? I do remember sitting in the chair at my salon, with a plastic cap on my head, having my hair pulled through tiny little holes with a pick. Or whatever. Tiny little blonde streaks in my hair. Totally '90s.

Right after I graduated from high school, I got the one and only trendy haircut of my life: sliced to right below my chin (necessitating serious blow-drying), thick bleached-out sections, then the whole head dyed red, amounting to three two-inch streaks of fire-engine red on each side of my head. The rest of my hair was very dark. Essentially the same color Courteney Cox had in Scream 2, except I did it first. I swear. Still, totally '90s.

And thus began my love affair with red hair.

My first home-dye was on the floor of my dorm room, freshman year, with my friend Kim working the L'Oreal magic. I've only gotten my color done in a salon once or twice since then; a stylist actually told me once that I was doing a pretty good job myself, and I didn't need someone else to do it for me. I turned my hair every shade of red imaginable, from strawberry blonde to fire-engine red to so-red-it's-black (which was my hair color when I met Jake).

When I hit 25, I decided to go blonde, which really only meant light reddish, since (to my surprise, for some reason), it's nigh-on impossible to get red dye out of your hair. Then, at 27, I decided I would never-ever-ever dye my hair again, and instead, would be happy with myself the way I was born, and embrace being a brunette.

Then, I turned thirty. And I realized I like dying my hair; I like being a redhead. And so, back to red it was. I'm trying for the slow transition. I went from brunette to dark auburn to lighter auburn, and now, as I sit with my head marinating, it's even redder. And I feel more me.

Have I doomed my life to box after box of chemistry sets drying my hair out? Probably. Or, I'll do like my mom and highlight my way into graying "naturally." But, for now, I'm happy to be amongst the ranks of Rita Hayworth, Lucille (McGillicutty Ricardo) Ball, Molly Ringwald, Julianne Moore, and, my hair idol since the late nineties:

Willow Rosenberg.