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.