Out of the MUDD and MUCK into Oblivion

My younger brother has been kind enough to take me under his wing and give me a crash course in gaming. Although, I'm afraid to say that I'm really bad at jumping from game to game. Where some people might play one game for a few hours and then try something new, I like to wrestle with something for ages. In a rather mulish way I'll beat my head against a wall until I burst through. Or pass out. Whichever comes first. That said, he's being amazingly patient with me in this endeavor and has even gone so far as to help me set up an Xbox Live account (he, in fact, is the reason I have an xbox at all now). Now, I say 'help' not because I'm not technically savvy and couldn't figure it out for myself. No, I can figure out the particulars. It's just that damn 6 - 15 character username that gets me every time. When faced with defining myself in such a small, irrelevant way my mind goes blank. Cue my brother and his friend with suggestions. Some of you might be happy to know that I didn't steal the following names away from the world last night:

Angry Alan Thick
Lovely Carl Winslow
Be Bea Arthur

Although, I think that my brother's friend my have taken some form of 'Lovely Carl Winslow' by now. And if you were curious about 'Kirk Cameron', 'Lisa Turtle' or 'Kelly Kapowski' they were all taken. I'm pretty happy with what I ended up with, though I can't claim it's clever or even similar to any of my usual monikers. But if you see 'candace cameron' running around, it's me.

The only down side to having my own xbox live account instead of playing on my brother's is that I had to restart my Dragon Age Origins game. Really it's not such a hardship because I hadn't gotten so far. The interesting thing is that by going back and playing again I unlocked different accomplishments and have different characters in my party. It's interesting to me that the choices I make matter so much. That's the sort of thing that I love. Years ago when my brother introduced me to Knights of the Old Republic he lost access to his xbox for an entire week.

Now, the fantastic thing about Dragon Age is that, even for someone like me who is accustomed to MUSH/MUCK/MUDD platforms and not a heavy console gamer, it is easy to slip into the game play. Control functions make sense and after a little bit of fooling around with are really natural. The controls for Mass Effect I'm much clumsier with. I ended up having to invert the controller because somehow making up into down and vice versa made more sense to my head. Go figure.

Maybe I'm just inherently better with sharp pointy things than guns. Hm. Something to ponder.

Spinning my Wheels

Three weeks of holiday goodness means (for me) not only catching up with family and people I haven't seen in a great while, but also glutting myself with as much media as possible. Where I feel I have been falling down in the area of visiting people (note lack of car and irrational anxiety when it comes to phone conversations) whom I love deeply, I am confident that I am getting my fair share of media. Surprisingly, all forms.

Initially when I packed my back to head to the (not so) sunny south I convinced myself the following would be utterly vital:

• 2 cookbooks
• 1 book on the Okefenokee to return to my grandmother
• 5 fictional novels I've been meaning to read for ages
• 1 Nintendo DS, charger & a Final Fantasy game
• 2 sets of knitting needles
• 3 skeins of yarn
• 1 laptop & charger
• 1 sketchbook & bag of drawing pencils
  

Dave managed to convince me that, no, I do not need five books to read. So, I only brought three. To be fair, I have read two of those in addition to going through one skein of yarn... even if the second skein I started was not one I brought with, but one my mother purchased for me today. But, hey! I need something to do while I watch Dexter with my brother.

It's strange catching up with the things that I've been neglecting. With reading, for instance, it's like gluping down ice cold water from the hose after spending a long day out playing. Nothing else can taste so good. I race through the words, tumbling forward recklessly not caring about meaning. It was probably a good thing that I read Real Murders by Charlaine Harris first. One of her first books, I gather, and her early writing style leaves something to be desired. I probably would have liked it more if it weren't set in a fictional Georgia town that is almost (but not quite) a lot of cities I know. I felt like not only did she not do her research on more than several occasions, but she just didn't go far enough. She was skirting the edge of the pool and occasionally dipping her toes instead of just doing it and leaping in like we wanted. That said, it was a light and fluffy read. Interesting to see where she has come from, but I'm glad that her writing has improved a great deal in the nineteen years it's been since that novel was initially published. I finished the whole read in about a day and was left wanting more. Not of that, per se, but of words in general. As it would turn out, I was in luck. Soulless by Gail Carriger is positively amazing. I mean, the cover boasts that it's about vampires, werewolves and parasols. What is not to like?

Soulless is one of those books that found me rather than the other way around. During one of my random jaunts in a bookstore during my lunch hour (a time frequently spent sneaking away to peek at books I know I won't have time to read during the school year) I was drawn towards the bright pink around the bold font. While the description on the back was intriguing, I must say that it was the author's bio that made me purchase the book more than anything else. It reminded me of Orli, and goodness know how I love that woman as well as her writing. I must say that Soulless was far from disappointing. It was clever from the top down. The characters were engaging and I found myself drawn into this Victorian world that had hints of steam punk without making me want to cringe at the 'hipness' of it all. No, there is a definite reason this story is being told. The heroine within this book is full of agency. She's someone I would like to be. Roman nose and all. I urge you all to pick it up and give the pages a turn. The words are a bit dense, but it's rewarding. Like bunt cake. So delicious!

When I not reading I, surprisingly, have been indulging in a great deal of video games. The new Mario for the wii. It is both fun and frustrating. And multi-player divorce mode is next to impossible for me. I find that my teammates are always jumping on my head or I forget who I am and end up bubbled. But I like it even if my timing skills leave a lot to be desired. It's fun to remember the original game as I stumble through the levels of this new one.

My netflix account, too, has been getting a fair share of use. But I think I will save my review of Lost in Austen for when I have decided exactly how I feel about it. I keep waffling back in forth on that one. Cleverly done but... hm. Better not to launch into it.

So, all in all the holidays are going well in my little corner of the globe. I hope that you and yours can say the same. And for goodness sake, do stay safe! We only have a little left of 2009 to get through and I want to see that everyone makes it! I'm tired of people skipping out on us.

It's a Dancing Revolution

After spending many a night in Chicago looking for The Most Epic Dance Party Ever(tm), I found it after being in Atlanta less than 12 hours. It turns out that the kids at Nonis really know how to have a good time until early in the AM. My friend JC was one of the DJ Du Jours along with his friend Preston, who was celebrating his imminent departure. Apparently he's New York bound.

Now, Dave had been telling me of Nonis and West Egg for ages, but I didn't think much of it. Possibly because I could not understand the sheer amount of AWESOME-sauce without being there. Now I know.

We pulled into the gravel parking lot of a low building. One of the few smallish buildings amidst sky scrapers in the almost bad section of town. We enter through the patio that has been strung with C-9 Christmas lights. Their large, multi-colored glow provided a welcoming illumination in contrast to the dull orange light pollution that is the Atlanta night sky. Inside, we were plunged immediately into this darkness. I fumbled around after Dave and Jamie who both knew where they were going as I waited for my eyes to adjust. When they did finally adjust I took a good look around the place. It was decorated like some older relation's house, complete with old armoirs and photographs of happy people from the 1950s. I felt like someone took advantage of their Grandparents being out of town for the weekend and threw the most kick-ass party ever.

The place was hopping.

So much so that it took me a moment to catch my breath and get my bearings. Just as well, really, since I was catching up with people I hadn't seen in months. It was the sort of night where the drinks kept coming, but I didn't have to pay for any of them. Which is to say, fantastic. At one point Dave looked over at me and said, "My favorite part of the evening is coming up soon. The more the DJs get drunk, the more erratic the music is." This proved to be true. But it also goes to show you that some people have awesome taste in music no matter if they are drunk or sober. Never once did the beats lag and never once were people like "Ugh....not this song." All selections were met with an eager cheer and frantic dancing. Dancing that I, naturally, was only too happy to take part in once I got my bearings.

The single most fantastic thing about Nonis was the utter lack of the creeper element. At some (read: most) clubs I've had the pleasure to frequent, you're in trouble if you don't have at least one wing-man to battle the creeper element. You look out for each others back and, maybe more importantly, each others drink. But here, in this small building packed with strangers, I felt completely comfortable in charging into the dance floor alone. Then again, that's easy for me to say when I knew at least seven people there. But, still. The point is that it was the most epic party to have ever rocked. The sort that you only see in 80s movies. Heck, at one point the dancing could not be contained by the building and everyone spilled out to continue dancing in the middle of Edgewater.

So, in closing, my dear Chicago... You're going to have to step it up Hardcore.

Tis the Season

I arrived back in the (less than) sunny south on Saturday and today is the first day I've had to catch my breath at all. It's strange to be idle. It feels decadent and it leaves me with a sense that I'm doing something wrong. I thought I would combat this with shopping online for holiday gifts. But, it turns out that I hate shopping online. This is something I didn't realize about myself and I am more than slightly surprised.

You would think (or, at least, I would) that anything to avoid the crowds at a mall would be worth-while and awesome. And, yet, not so much.

I find it impossible to have any emotional attachment to objects without being able to physically touch them. The pictures don't really tell me what anything is, either. Most of the pictures are terrible. And if they have 'action shots' of the items then I cannot see my family/friends using them-- just whoever it is in the badly taken picture for the online store. And then there's the whole 'happy accident' of shopping. In the real world you go to a mall/retail store/outlet/etc and wander around aimlessly until something jumps out at you screaming "I WAS MEANT FOR ---!". But most things on the internet are screaming, anyway, so I find it difficult to sort the good stuff from the spam.

Maybe the trick is knowing what you want in advance. That, too, is a problem for me. Shopping for people is so difficult. I have a dim idea of what people would like but at the end of the day I have trouble thinking material things are useful. I imagine it will all get piled into a closet and forgotten by new years, anyway. How do you buy someone a truly useful gift without having it be as lame as socks* or as noncommittal as a gift card?

Ideas?


Edit:
Upon reflection I've decided that some socks aren't lame. For instance, knit socks are pretty amazing. As are fuzzy house socks. But plain white socks....maybe not so much.

Let's just leave it how it was.

Tonight I finished the last final of my first quarter of grad school. A model of the Big Apple Circus copied from one of my professor's designs. A terrifying, but (surprisingly) fun project. This morning was my final for Freehand drawing and on Monday I turned in my Script Analysis final (it was due today). With that in mind, I realize that I may not yet be at a good vantage point to look back and see what I've come away with so far. All the same, I am startled by the marked difference in work dynamics between myself and each of my comrades in arms.

In all honesty, my work isn't that great. Not bad, mind you. Just not great. I turn everything in on time and have not had to pull an all-nighter all quarter. In fact, the latest I have stayed up to get a project done is 2:30am (I think). I've tried to work steadily and use my time wisely. Some things I understood and some things I wrestled with until I could clutch the coat-tails of understanding. I'm on what I think is the path to comprehension. Only, just now I can dimly make out the shape of what I'm holding onto and I'm hoping it isn't something with large teeth and a hankering for mousy brunettes.

My classmates, on the other hand, are amazing. I love sitting back and watching them think. They are all quick and sharp. I'm frequently left dizzy with how swiftly they've grasped a topic and moved onto the next one while I'm puzzling something over from yesterday. Or the day before. But, what's more, they aren't just in it for themselves. If they have a triumph they want to share it with others. If there has been a breakthrough that makes life easier and helps side-step the sometimes intense desire to slit your wrists, it's passed along. It's humbling, really. I cannot express how grateful I am to know each and every one of them.

I cannot help but wonder, though, what is wrong with me that I cannot muster up a good gut-wrenching sense of despair when I realize I put my staircase on backwards. Granted, my model is no where near perfect (as much as I would like it to be) and even though I am proud of it tonight I know that tomorrow I will hate it by the end of class period, I'm just ready to be done. I wish that I were like the others. They keep pushing themselves to improve. I never think I'm coasting at the time....am I?


Also, I have CA glue in my hair. I'm pretty sure that's the exact opposite of TV-hair. Nnngh.

My Kingdom for a Curry

Tonight, my friends, I have sunk to a new low. Tonight I made brownies from a bag. This after not having so much as touched the oven for more than tea for weeks. This, I feel, more than anything points to how much grad school is addling my brain. But there is one week left in the whirl-wind quarter and I plan to use the following three week break to my benefit.

I'm trying my best to be optimistic about the brownies. I picked up the Namaste brand when I was in Whole Foods awhile back on a whim. It was the first time I saw a package that was soy AND corn free in addition to gluten free. My thought: Why the heck not? Every girl needs an emergency stash, after all. The package does call for 3 eggs and a half cup of oil. I used Ener-G Egg Replacer and coconut oil instead of olive oil.

Batter taste test was....not promising. Grainy. Bitter. Upon further examination my guesses were accurate: Brown rice flour. I've been spoiled with my flour templates. But! Maybe I'll luck out and have brownie soup. That's good even if it's gritty.


Lord. This quarter needs to end so I can stop living off M&Ms and bad california rolls.

Thoughts from a Stolen Moment

Never have I better understood Hermione Granger than I do today. The movies have it entirely wrong. She isn't reveling in academia (well, not at first). She isn't disappointed at a lack of exams when they are canceled. She's terrified. How could she not be? A muggleborn, she is flung into a world completely alien to her. A world in which none of her family or friends to date can truly understand because they have not and they will never experience it. Even her Hogwarts friends come from drastically different backgrounds and cannot entirely relate with her experience. So she grabs hold of the text because it is a familiar lifeline. Maybe not the subject matter, per se, but the act of studying itself. English is still English (except when it's Latin-- but that's okay, too). She throws herself at it whole-heartedly not because it brings her particular joy, but because she is mind numbingly afraid. And to add insult to injury, nothing comes easily. If she does anything well it is because she has done that same thing a thousand times while locked away from prying eyes (with the exception of Moaning Myrtle, who hardly counts as a person anyhow). So she revels at whatever task she has finally managed to pull off with some satisfaction only to deflate when some Ravenclaw comes along to blow her out of the water. It's a slap in the face because they actually belong and she is an interloper. Or it feels that way sometimes. A quiet "Well done, Miss Granger." isn't met with a smug smile of self-confidence, but a breathy sigh of release and relief. But just how many school days ended with her crying in Myrtle's bathroom before Ron and Harry stumbled upon her by happenstance? And how many after?

That said, grad school isn't all bad. The people here are interesting and intelligent. The classes are insanely challenging. I feel like I might as well have not gone to undergrad at all. Many days feel like I am walking into battle unarmed. Perhaps there is something to the whole 'chasing the grade at the expense of the knowledge' thing, after all. Or maybe I was just learning different things. I still don't regret my time in German. Or ballet. Or Student Government, for that matter.

So, I suppose it just comes down to sucking it up and just doing the thing(s). Wish me luck.

So We Meet Again. . .

I have never been what you might call a 'muffin person'. My personal opinion in the great kitchen debate is: Why bother with muffins when you could have cupcakes? Cute + Edible + Frosting = Win in my book. It seems a fairly simple equation.

But, I'm afraid that my hatred of all things muffin did not come about in a natural means. Once upon a time muffins and I were on civil terms. There was no cringing at the mention of their name and the doughy, slightly moist smell that inevitably comes along with them didn't make bile rise up into my throat. I could even walk into the complimentary breakfast at hotels and think: MMMM, Muffins! Not my favorite food, perhaps, but still a viable alternative to cold cereal.

It turns out that I have problems with moderation.

I'm a gung-ho sort of girl and when it comes to food it's no different. Add to that a week long theatre conference, limited funds, and a Sam's Club membership. Did you know that Otis-Spunkmeyer Muffins come in giant palettes? I must have eaten forty of those awful things. ugh. Not exactly my brightest moment.

That said, it has been a good 4 or 5 years since I took leave of my senses and have decided to give them a go again. This time I have Erin McKenna on my side and I feel I have a good ally in her. The product is fairly tasty (Maybe in future trials I shall use more spice

. Mine came out too cinnamon and not enough ginger.), but I must say that even so I would take a cupcake any day.


Ingredients

• 2 Cups Bob's Red Mill Gluten-Free All-Purpose Baking Flour*
• 2 Teaspoons Baking Powder
• 2 Teaspoons Baking Soda
• 1 Teaspoon Xanthan Gum
• 1 Teaspoon Salt
• 1 Tablespoon Ground Cinnamon
• 1 Tablespoon Ground Ginger
• 1 1/2 Cup Coconut Oil, plus more for the pan
• 2/3 Cup Agave Nectar
• 2/3 Cup Rice Milk
• 2 Tablespoons Pure Vanilla Extract
  
• 1 1/2 Cups Canned unsweetened Pumpkin Pure**
  
• 1/2 Cup Hot Water

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees and prep your muffin tins by either greasing (Coconut Oil is fantastic and I find it to work way better than Pam or Olive Oil. It's also healthier for you, I'm told) your pans or putting your paper liners in place.

In a large bowl mix together your dry ingredients. Once everything seems to be evenly mixed start to add your wet ingredients in the same bowl. Save your hot water until the very last because it's going to help break down the coconut oil while it is in a solid-ish form. Stir everything until you have a good consistency. You don't want it too runny but you don't want it too difficult to stir, either.

Fill each cup 2/3 of the way full with batter and place in the center of your oven and allow to bake for a total of 22minutes. After the first 10 minutes you should rotate the tins 180 degrees to allow to cook evenly. Finished muffins will be soft to the touch and a toothpick inserted into the center should come away clean.

*I am unable to eat the Bob's baking flour because it contains corn so I use the following flour mix template, which makes 3 cups:

• 1 1/2 Cups Sorghum Flour
• 1 Cup White Rice Flour
• 1/2 Cup Tapioca or Potato Starch
  
• 1 Tsp Xanthan Gum

**The whole foods here was out of the puree so I used a can of spiced pumpkin pie filler and it seems to have turned out alright.

From My Own Little Corner, In My Own Little Room. . .

Hello from Evanston, IL! My internet connection is now up and running steadily because Dave (as well all know) is a hero. Granted, I haven't had much time to devote to usual internet rituals. Graduate Orientation Week at Northwestern has engulfed my life. It is at once terrifying and fantastic. I feel sort of have the Hermione-syndrome here (aka-- I'm the muggle doing her best to keep up with everyone that has supposedly natural abilities). I cannot express how disorientating it is to be surrounded by tons of people who are at once bright and ambitious.

If school is terrifying, at least home is a comfort. I live in a terribly cute little house with a roommate who owns the Unicorn Cafe. She has a kitten named River and I feel that all three of us get along famously. It's just a happy little place that I am glad to come home to in the evenings after my thirty minute walk home from campus (sidenote: parking passes are $400! eesh. I'll use my own two feet, kthx).

We do not begin classes until next Tuesday, but I can already see a few changes creeping in here and there throughout my life. I've been more conscious about my eating habits, one. In a good way, I mean. I eat a breakfast every morning before my walk, lunch, snack around 3:30ish and then dinner when I get home. Also, I've been getting up around 7am daily with only marginal hemming and hawing. This is exceptionally impressive because I am not at all a morning person. Maybe it's the fact that I've been walking so much (it's like a way of life here), but I'm just more ready to take on the day. Speaking of days, they are absolutely beautiful here. I can feel the hint of fall in the air and Lake Michigan is exceptionally beautiful to lunch by. I didn't know water could get that blue. Everyone has been saying "Enjoy it now. It will be winter soon enough." To that I respond with: Why borrow tomorrows burdens when you could be enjoying today?

Also, some interesting opportunities regarding oral histories and theatre have cropped up recently through the head of my program. There is a distinct possibility that my whim-like project (which, I am still working on and hope to have posted within the next week or so) may branch into something larger than initially anticipated. We'll see.

Meanwhile, I should be working on a few drawings while I'm waiting for my portfolio to arrive tomorrow. Of all the things that I should forget in Decatur I chose that!

More details about grad school this weekend for certain after I get my banking things settled. Until then, much love!

Back from Beyond

Well, my friends, I can now safely say that I have returned from the wasteland and kicked it squarely in the face--- only to have it bounce back and beat the snot out of me. Suffice to say that the desert is still not my happy place (unlike Kathy, who seems to revel in it), but I'm thankful I tried again even if both my legs from the knees down are swollen to freakish proportions.

I collected a lot of wonderful interviews from burners and am in the process of transferring them to my computer and doing a write up for them. All of that will be posted here when I'm finished, so keep an eye out for experimentation with media. We'll see if I can master this whole 'internet' thing yet!

Currently I'm in Nahunta with family to collect a few things before I head to Chicago on Friday morning for grad school. It's still difficult to believe that I start orientation on Monday. I am at once excited and terrified at what lies before me. Luckily, after walking into the desert and living there a week sojourning to Chicago doesn't seem so daunting. Well, at least not in the same way. There I have people I know and I have a fairly good idea of what is going to happen. That said, what needs to happen in immediate future is another load of laundry. Wish me luck!

**Photo above taken by Kathy Lemberg and used with permission.

Sometime in January of this year I lost my mind. I haven no other explanation for the fact that I took more than half of one paycheck and bought a ticket to Burning Man after barely a few days of learning it existed. I sort of skimmed over the Wikipedia entry on the event and, gripped with the reverent belief that I shall become a journalist, I jumped feet first into an event I'm discovering I am woefully unprepared for even now. Initially, my dear friend and cohort Rose was going to go on the trip with me and it would be some madcap adventure out in the desert. Well, things changed. Rose quit her internship, moved to California and is currently gearing up to spend six months in Antarctica (no, I'm not at all kidding). Rose is sort of a badass on epic Joan Jett-level proportions. All that aside, I did manage to talk two friends into coming with me so no matter what played out it wouldn't be all bad. Also, there was less of a chance of me dying in the desert alone.

Have I mentioned to you how much I loathe the desert? It's a deep-seeded hatred that stems back to just after I graduated from undergrad and left home to journey west to my first after college job. In Utah. Back then everyone pretty much thought I was crazy. If they weren't complaining about the heat then it was the Mormons, but I insisted I had never had a problem with either of those things. And thinking back on my experiences that isn't what makes me want to vomit every single time I see the craggy red landscape of the southern Utah desert pop up on some Discovery channel special or another. Part of it stems from the vast emotional desert I experienced there and part of it, well, part of it is because it just seemed to have it in for me. More than once I thought I was going to die. Now, I'm not talking about the sudden adrenaline rush you get from a so-called 'close call' that probably didn't have any real likelihood of killing you. I'm talking about the life-flashes-before-your-eyes-make-peace-with-your-Maker kind of run-ins. So, it's fair to say that the desert and I are not friends in any capacity.

That said, the fact that I am starting my journey the day after tomorrow has me more terrified than I have ever been in my life.

Granted, I have tried to make up for this fear (something which feels not unlike a small animal slowly devouring me from the inside out beginning with my stomach) by being as informed as possible. I have signed up for the Jack Rabbit Speaks which, for those of you in the know, is a newsletter sent out to all Burners past and present to help get people prepared for the adventure. I've read the website a thousand times and nearly committed the newbie survival guide to heart. I've googled past Burners and looked up their packing lists: things they brought, things they used, things they wished they had. Apparently each year hundreds of whole, unused watermelons are left behind. Because when I'm getting ready to spend a week in the desert the first thing I want to go to Kroger to get is a watermelon as big as my head...I mean...really?

But maybe I'm over-thinking things, as I am sometimes known to do. I've tried my best to step back and just let it go. I've volunteered to run the sound board for several shifts and I am bringing my digital voice recorder along with my trusty blue spiral bound notebook and various writing utensils. Maybe something interesting will come out of this yet. We'll see. At the very least you should expect a run-down when I return on Sept 9th or 10th.

Until then, later days!

French cooking still isn't my bag.

After a massive week of filming for Vampire Diaries (something which I shall likely moon over later) Dave took me to see the film Julie & Julia. Now, I had been dimly aware of the Julie/Julia Project for awhile now. I mean, when you have a book hit the best sellers list and a blog climb its way to the top of Salon (which I cannot say I have ever read, but apparently people do) it's hard to go on completely oblivious. At the time I'm sure I was hardly interested in food at all except when I was eating it; and even then there surely was a passing interest at best. So the idea of sitting down and reading about a project where someone is going to cook their way through Julia Child's cookbook seemed...well...bland.

But things change.

Now when my my thoughts seem to be utterly consumed with food when I am not worrying over one project or another in my foreseeable future the idea of a film about two women who must love food as much as I do seems appropo. That, and I simply adore Meryl Streep and Amy Adams (who doesn't?). It seemed like something I could absolutely relate to. I wasn't disappointed. When Julie threw her hands up to the sky and exclaimed to her husband, "I never seem to finish anything..." Well...let's just say it's a complaint I find coming out of my mouth more than I would like to admit.

The only negative thing had nothing really to do with the movie at all. Apparently everyone in Decatur decided they wanted to go to the Regal 24 to see Julie & Julia so the place was packed. We manged to find two seats together up front only to be joined by this old man. No problem. Plenty of people end up coming to the theatre alone, right? I've done it before more than once. I do not, however, make it a habit of taking up my seat as well as half of the seat of the person next to me (which, in this case, happened to be myself) and spend half the movie pressing down on that person's hip. At first I thought it was an accident or else he was larger so he didn't have much room so I scooted over as close as I could manage to Dave. It was distracting and uncomfortable. When I was at last driven to confrontation (something I hate) the guy ignored me. Dave said he thought he was asleep, but I am unconvinced. He didn't look asleep to me and I had heard him chuckling at several points during the movie. I was going to just suffer through, but Dave got over protective and lost it. Which, in this case, meant that he got up and started looking for another seat. Embarrassed, I decided to go out of the theatre and take a bathroom break. When I returned the old man had left and Dave had reclaimed our seats. This time I sat on the inside away from where the old man might sit if he returned. How odd.

Tastiest Snickerdoodles EVAH!

Do you ever have one of those nights were you're like "OMG IF I DO NOT HAVE SOMETHING SUGARY AND AWESOME I AM GOING TO STAB SOMEONE IN THE FACE!?" Well, I do. Frequently. And it often leads to conversations like this:

Me: I wanna milkshake.
Dave: You can't have that.
Me: I wanna cookie.
Dave: Becca-cookie?
Me: COOOOKIE. *stabbity look*
Dave: Let's get you some cookies.

And so, lacking all the crazy ingredients that many GF / CF cookbooks request I went to the internet and did a quick google search for some 'real' cookie recipes. Now, I have had a long standing love of The Joy of Cooking for a long time and they have a companion book called The Joy of Baking. As luck would have it, they also have websites! Below I've included the (altered) recipe that makes this Becca-friendly. And, hopefully, friendly to you as well.

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 cups sorghum flour
• 1 cup white rice flour
• 1/2 cup potato starch (you may also use tapioca starch as a sub if you have that instead)
• 1 tsp xanthan gum
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 2 cup olive oil (or oil of choice)**
• 1 1/2 cup white grandulated sugar
• 2 eggs worth of Energy Egg Replacer
• 1 tsp Vanilla

Coating

• 1/3 cup sugar
• 2 tsp cinnamon
  

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Combine your dry ingredients and go ahead and stir them until combined well. Then add all of your wet ingredients, but make sure you leave your oil until very last.

**Add oil slowly waiting to see the consistancy of the dough. You want to make sure that it isn't too dry or too wet. Trust your feelings, young padawan.

Roll into small balls and place on parchment lined baking sheet. Use a fork to make criss-cross hash marks on the top of the cookies and to squish them down gently. If they are moist enough then they will not crumble upon smushing.

Sprinkle cookies with cinnamon/sugar mixture and bake for 8 - 10 minutes. You're looking for the edges to be lightly brown but not burnt looking. If you see them sizzling in the oven, it's okay. They're supposed to do that.

Dave's seal of approval: "When you open the oven it smells like a carnival!"

In-Between Days

The relative life of leisure which I currently have been fortunate enough to enjoy has left me a lot of time for filler. Okay, so maybe that isn't the best turn of a phrase. But how else to describe all the tiny things that you normally might really love doing but get shelved for the 'shoulds' and 'musts' that build up during the coarse of a day/week/month that is otherwise loaded down with work, class, or any other number of things that comprise life as we know it.

There's my bright spot. One of them, at least.

Lacking work in the traditional sense to fill up my day I am able to pick and choose what I'd like to focus on so long as it meets the following criteria: 1. cheap, and 2. entertaining. I've found a good deal of solace in cleaning and reclaiming little areas of space which might otherwise have been left forgotten the way that old houses are when kudzu slowly devours them whole. Baking, too, has been cathartic in a similar sense. Changing something from one form to another. It's rather like alchemy. At least, I like to think so. Lately I have also found that I've been getting back in touch with my crafty side as well. Where this might have formerly meant painting or decoupage art projects worthy of any five year old, I now am turning to fiber arts. Specifically, knitting. Not that I am any good. And not that I have turned out anything more exciting than several Fish Hats. But it just makes me feel productive in a way that doing the dishes or playing the Sims just isn't able to compete with. There's something lasting about the products (barring mishaps with moths or horrifying laundry incidents).

This summer has also been one of books. Lazy day reading when I am left to my own devices is a guilty pleasure of mine. I love devouring books. Quickly pushing through the words so that I can reach the author's meaning...rereading passages in a futile attempt to commit them to memory or else simply savor the flavor that a particular turn of phrase might have. It feels terribly decadent to be able to sit down with a novel and be able to devote my full attention to it without having to think about anything else more pressing. The most recent of these indulgences is The Geography of Bliss by Eric Weiner. While a fairly quick read, it felt dense. Heavy with thoughts and words. Not surprising, perhaps, considering it was written by a life-long Journalist and NPR Correspondent. He was funny and thoughtful. In the end the book made me want to travel more and gave me a little more insight to things that I already knew. Or thought I knew. Things like 'What does happiness mean to me?' and 'How do I get there?' Are the answers to those questions so different when you consider them in the individual sense versus giving them a hint of your nationality? Or is it possible to consider them at all without lending your cultural perspective to it? Maybe not. But it's interesting to try.

Nowhere Like Here

I'm beginning to feel a bit more like myself. I informed Dave the other day that "It is terribly difficult to be upset at the beach." His answer was immediate and only half-joking: "You mean you were trying?" A fair enough question considering that I spent a good portion of my first full day back on Amelia Island reaching out and poking at my inner worries with a stick as though to see if they were still there. It's like taunting a hungry dog with food and expecting it not to at the very least be put off by your pestering. But the beach is wonderful. Maybe it's because my parents used the sound of running water to lull me to sleep as a child or maybe my inner soul is a pirate, but either way this terrible sense of peace falls over me when I'm on the sea shore. Terrible only because it seems so much larger than myself. It's a strange sensation to be swallowed entirely by something you cannot see.

When I attempted to explain all this to my mother she laughed and stretched her arms wide. "It's because you're home!" She declared matter-of-factly. "Home is supposed to let you step out of your skin for a bit." It's an odd notion to call this place 'home'. Currently we are staying at a rental house on the Island while my parents wait to relocate to their newly purchased farm house (minus the farm). The rooms are half put together and boxes are half-hidden in corners. But it's tidy for the most part, if you don't look into my brother's room or the place my father uses as his 'office'. Everything that one could need is present and what isn't can be acquired by a quick jaunt down the road to Harris Teeter-- which happens at least once daily. Although, that could be attributed to just getting out of the house than any actual need. But I digress. She wasn't really talking about the place. Home, particularly the Southern definition of home, is the people. Well, that and the region itself.

Something I've also found touching during these past few days is the way my mother has been seeking out southern food that I can eat. Where I immediately turned away from all my favorites when I discovered my laundry list of food allergies, my mom decided that there was a way to make this work. Like tonight we had baked chicken, English peas and yams (have I told you how much I am in love with sweet potatoes?). All simple and easy and free of things that make me ill. It was nice. All of it is, really.

Light Summer Dinner

Tonight Mama made such an easy, tasty meal that I felt I absolutely had to share it. Summer squash (both yellow and zucchini) has got to be my favorite form of the versatile veggie.

Ingredients

• 3 zucchini
• 3 yellow squash
• 1/2 med white onion
• 1 tomato
• basil
• salt
• 1 tsp arrowroot
• 1 lb of de-veined, uncooked shrimp
• 1 bag of success rice (or rice of choice)

Pour just enough oil in the bottom of your sauce pan to coat (olive or canola work fine, though we used olive) because you don't want your veggies drowning. Likewise you don't want any angry oil surging up at your face due to any residual moisture from rinsing your veggies.

Slice the zucchini, squash and onion to toss into the pan along with the oil. There you can let it sit while you add a little salt to taste and a liberal basil. We didn't actually measure this part but just added until it felt right. Use your common sense. If you are fond of Basil feel free to add what you feel is a good portion. Because this sort of meal was about being quick and simple we used a dry form of the herb. You want to keep your eye on those veggies while you're dicing your tomato. Before you add it to the mix make sure that the squash and zucchini are nicely browned (not burned).

It's about this time that you should be adding your bag o' rice to the pot of boiling water so that it'll come out at the same time. Or if you have a rice cooker or some other method/rice of choice feel free to go with that. We decided on plain ol' white rice: a tasty, under appreciated staple.

Now go ahead and add that tomato.

In a little cup or bowl put about a tsp of arrowroot and then add a little bit of water to mix it in nicely. This is going to thicken up water that's cooking out of your veggies. For those of you who make roux out of cornstarch, this is the same thing except corn free. Pour it over your vegetables. Keep in mind that you do not want the things in your pan drowning. Just add enough so that they're simmering nicely and not sticking to the bottom.

Add your shrimp to the mix and cook until pink. And there you go! Put this over your rice and you'll have enough to feed four people easily with possible left overs for later.

Enjoy!

The Whole of It

The future seems like such a nebulous, far away thing. There seems to be a definite path which I'm following for the moment and my (not to scale) map has scribbled in blobs at random points along the horizon which I am supposedly walking towards. SOLAR. Burning Man. Grad School. I want to add in question marks along the edges to punctuate the absolute lack of certainty which seems to have me in its grips at any given moment. Time keeps passing but it is hard to tell with me looking at my shuffling feet instead of the horizon. Maybe I should keep track by the declining numbers in my bank account. It seems to be what I'm judging everything by these days.

Ah, the life of a gypsy. I feel I've earned the title now with traveling adventures as well as abject poverty. Although it's difficult to be truly poor when you have friends and family. Love and hope go quite a long way.

And it was with those self same thoughts in mind which I hugged the puppies goodbye (for now) and pulled my last $50 I'd been saving out of the crinkled Wachovia envelope in my purse. Nearly a month ago when I first left Fernandina after a visit with my parents my mother had slipped it folded into my hand as I was heading off to Atlanta. "In case you should need to come home." I hugged her and promptly forgot about it. It was as if she had issued an incantation. Even when there were things I wanted to do it never occurred to me to spend the money. Maybe it was just that it was specifically earmarked for something else. Or maybe I just didn't feel that it was mine in any concrete sense. But putting $20 into Starla in the form of gas was the appropriate thing to do. The remaining $30 went back into my pocket as a woman with gold teeth and a shiny SUV came to a screeching halt beside me at the gas station.

"Bless you, baby! I love you. Now, you don't think that I do but it's true! See, this here is my mother and I take care of her and I need to get to my son... I'm barren but I have a son and.. I need a few dollars for gas."

I stared at her for a second, trying to make out what she had just told me. The words sort of blurred together around the edges and faded away every time she turned to face the old black woman in the passanger seat who was doing her best to not pay attention to this entire exchange. They both looked tired. As it turns out, however, I am not a good Christian. And rather than split up my money for oil I just started laughing. I couldn't help it. It was that edgy, crazy kind of laughter that isn't so much mirthful as unraveled. I felt a little unraveled. I told her that I was putting the last of my money into my gas tank as we spoke. I don't know if she believed me, but in either case she was quick to get away from me. I don't blame her.

The trip itself wasn't bad. The sun was bright and the traffic was light. It wasn't until I hit Savannah that the sky seemed to open up and my visibility went to nil at about the same time as my gas light urged my attention. It took me ten minutes to get off the exit ramp and then a bit more to figure out where I was and how to cross the median. I probably should have paid a little more attention to just why the gas station I was eyeing was empty in all this rain despite the crazy number of cars getting in my way. Maybe then I wouldn't have wound up in a puddle that made my engine lurch as water washed over the front of my car as I took a nose dive. Amazingly I made it to high(ish) ground in a McDonalds parking lot and waited 45 minutes to figure out a plan to get me to 1. a gas station and 2. the interstate. It took some creative driving and a good amount of praying but I made it. Hopefully my car isn't the worse for wear. We'll see.

Safe in Fernandia I'm trying to keep in mind all the things I'm thankful for and try not to spin off into an anxiety fit as I check my bank account and make lists of things I need to accomplish ASAP. It's hard, sometimes, to keep in mind that this is all part of the adventure. That life is all in the messy bits and how you come through it matters more than if you succeed perfectly on the first go.

And you know what? I may not make it to SOLAR this weekend, but I found my travel snail and it's enough to get me to Burning Man. Things are looking up.

Fandom

I like to think that we all have those things that give us that little extra sparkle regardless of how well the rest of our life is going at a given moment. Something that will give you pause in the middle of a store and send you spiraling into a dilemma of 'I don't really need this but OMG I want it'. I have more than one friend who hide stockpiles of yarn and fabric in various and sundry corners of their homes in an effort to appear normal. Like no one else has this problem. As if having something you are passionate about is shameful.

Only that isn't it.

It's not that people are ashamed of passion, it's that people are ashamed of having particular passions. Guilty pleasures. Vices. Whatever. There are very few people who step forward and proudly declare to the general populace that they MUSH, LARP, collect comic books, read/write fanfiction. . .the list goes on and on. And if people do admit to those sorts of things (unless you happen to be Felicia Day or Joss Whedon himself) you're not exactly regarded as one of the cool kids. Whatever that means these days. It's why I have plenty of friends who say they're going to 'fantasy football' instead of D&D or 'camping' instead of LARPing. Really, though, I guess it's a lot easier than explaining that you're off to a weekend where you plan to play a surface elf on a quest to rid the Southerlands from the evils of the Litch King who has seized the throne. I guess the thing is that I just don't really see why it should matter. Why should there be an embarrassment factor here when people who are health nuts or avid Sox fans are taken in stride?

Then again, maybe someone who is contemplating going to the HP opening tonight as Luna Lovegood shouldn't be making this argument.

Embracing Simplicity

Isaac Newton once said that "Truth is ever to be found in simplicity, and not in the multiplicity and confusion of things." I find that also to be true in baking (as in most things). Minutes ago I finished what is possibly my most successful cupcake adventure to date. The slightly lemon aroma of warm bread in cupcake form is insidiously taking over the boys' house and while I am pleased I keep wondering if they are going to come in one day and throw up their arms in exasperation only to tell me "THAT IS ENOUGH!" To be honest, I thought Jamie would have done that back in November when I baked an inedible, oily brownie brick into one of his nice glass casserole dishes. But I am a scientist (!) and cannot be stopped by such a paltry thing as failure (or kitchen fires, as it turns out).

That said, I really want to share this recipe with everyone. I cannot take credit for it as it comes from the Babycakes cookbook by Erin McKenna. I'm systematically working my way through that little wonder and so far there is absolutely nothing bad in it yet! Granted, it might be a little more work than anyone without allergies may wish to do, but for those of us who lead lives without it's a God-send. These little babies will melt in your mouth. Whoever said that vanilla had to be plain or that simple was boring?


Ingredients

• 2 Cups Garbanzo-Fava Bean Flour
• 1 Cup Potato Starch
• 1/2 Cup Arrowroot
• 1 Tablespoon Plus 1 1/2 teaspooons Gluten-Free Baking Powder
• 1/2 Teaspon Baking Soda
• 1 Teaspoon Xanthan Gum
• 2 Teaspoons Salt
• 2/3 Cup Coconut Oil (may substitute canola, grapeseed, avacado, etc if you'd rather)
• 1 1/3 Cups Agave Nectar
• 3/4 Cup Unsweetened Applesauce
• 3 Tablespoons Gluten Free Pure Vanilla Extract
• Grated Zest of 1 Lemon
• 1 Cup Hot Water (likely not needed if you do not use coconut oil)
• frosting of choice (I used dairy-free cream cheese)

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit. Line muffin tins with cupcake liners.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, potato starch, arrowroot, baking powder, baking soda, xanthan gum, and salt. Add the oil, agave nectar, applesauce, vanilla, and lemon zest to the dry ingredients and combine. Stir in the hot water and mix until the batter is smooth.

Pour 1/3 cup batter into each prepared cup, almost filling it. Bake the cupcakes on the center rack for 22 minutes, rotating the tins 180degrees after 15 minutes. You know your oven best, so keep an eye out on them in case they are cooking a little fast or slow. The finished cupcakes will be golden brown and will bounce back when pressure is applied gently to the center.

Let the cupcakes stand in the tins for 20 minutes, then transfer them to a wire rack and cool completely. Frost and enjoy!

An Early Anniversary

The crow of laughter which sounded made my ears go hot. Shifting uncomfortably back and forth within the cramped kitchen of the intern house; I grew defensive. "Well, I haven't had cherries before besides the kind that come in drinks." Nichole laughed again.

"Oh, God. Don't say that. Here. Put this in your mouth."

And that was how it was for the two years of my internship. From Nichole to Orli to Amy. Each lady stepped into my whirlwind life one after another to keep me company as well as giving me cooking lessons (admittedly some more indirectly than others). Even now when I am stealing precious moments in a kitchen that isn't mine to whip up Bing Cherry and Lemon Cupcakes from my Babycakes cookbook I cannot help but think of them as well as a myriad of others. I suppose that's one of the reasons I adore cooking so much. Baking, especially. It's not a task that's lonely even when you are doing it by yourself.

These days I find that despite having to cook differently than in the past, it isn't the utterly foreign task I anticipated nearly a year ago when I started my gluten/soy/corn/dairy/etc-free adventure. It's hard to believe that so much time has passed and that I have been largely successful (aside from my occasional indulgence in corn or dairy or an accidental brush with a wheat-based thickener for some seemingly innocent soup). And where I was once making burnt, soupy brownie imitations and pasty renditions of would-be cookies I'm now actually able to make fluffy cupcakes, crisp cookies that would do any grandmother proud, and an occasional pumpkin pie that tastes like I must be cheating somewhere. It's heartening to say the least.

I've been back in the south for a month now and eating was every bit as difficult as I thought it would be. It is difficult to turn down dishes that were (and are) my favorites because my body absolutely cannot handle them. Family reunions coupled with funerals mean scads of delicious, batter-covered food at every turn with aunts, uncles, parents, and grandparents leaning across the table to offer conspiratorial whispers: "Just cheat a little. Who is going to know?" Rather than explain how it is exceedingly difficult to trick my body or the price I pay for cheating, I smooth a friendly smile over my lips and go looking for the green beans. The ones that don't have the battered french onions on the top. Eesh.