Monthly Archives: December 2009

What I celebrate

Posted on by
6

You might have guessed by now that I am virtually religionless. For the most part, it doesn’t bother me. During the holidays, I celebrate the time I get to spend with my family and loved ones. I look at the Christmas season (that’s what my family celebrates, so that’s what I call it) as a time for sharing the love with your family and showing appreciation for them. Some people might be bothered by this, but whatever. It’s the way I feel and it doesn’t hurt anyone. (I even hold hands while the rest of the family says grace. It’s not a big deal for me.)

I was baptized Protestant and raised with a looser version of the religion my Mom was raised with. Dad’s family is Catholic and pretty much sticks to a looser, more relaxed version of Catholic tradition: no meat on Christmas Eve, but they don’t walk around swatting people on the head with Bibles, nor do they go to church. (Not to say that Catholics swat people with books. Or maybe some of them do. I know my 8th grade substitute teacher was always close!) My mom’s side of the family is even more relaxed. They’re Protestant, I guess, though now I think my mom’s sister, my Aunt Rikki, is more Catholic because her husband is Catholic and I’m pretty sure they baptized Katarina Catholic. (And I’m pretty sure my other aunt, Aunt Elyne, and her daughter Kate don’t celebrate any religion, either. But anyway.)

You’d think, surrounded by all of this religion, as relaxed as it is, that I would be more religious. I honestly have just never “felt” it. I experimented a little, as a kid. I looked into different religions and tried to find my niche, but nothing ever fit. I just don’t feel the presence that so many people say they feel. And that’s okay. It’s okay for you to feel it and it’s okay for me not to, as long as neither of us tries to force our beliefs on the other.

So during the holiday season, I wrap gifts for the people I love putting that love as my sole focus. I am like a kid waiting for Santa, I’m so excited to give people their gifts. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited about the gifts I’ll get, too, but it’s more important for me to give. And boy do I give. Every year I try to budget and every year I end up going over. Whoops. Even though my checkbook is not thrilled, I am thrilled to see the looks on everyone’s faces when they open their gifts this year, the gifts that I handpicked to show my appreciation. To say, I love you.

And don’t mistake me for putting it all into a material perspective; I’d be fine without giving or receiving gifts. I just look at it as a time of year to share love.

That’s what my holiday season is all about.

There is love in homemade bread and cards

Posted on by
2

I am not doing too well.

I’ve spent the last two weeks in a fog, kind of just moving through the days. I’ve been a little better today but I can’t shake the feeling that this is only the eye of the storm.

In high school, the best parts of my days in shop (I went to a technical high school and spent my four years in Culinary Arts) were the mornings and afternoons. First thing in the morning, I would come in and fill a little bowl with chocolate chip cookie dough as it was being made by Chef I. He got so used to me snitching cookie dough that at one point he started having a bowl ready for me. (And then Chef Z and later Chef M tried to shut me down, but that’s another post for another day.)

After a day of cooking, we would eat together. If you worked on Faculty Range, in Bake Shop, or in the Dining Room, you got to eat the good stuff (as opposed to being on Cafeteria side, where you made lunch for the whole student body). My favorite thing to eat for lunch was a few slices of bread with butter and a big bowl of sauce. (And to think I stayed a size 3-5 throughout my high school career!)

I haven’t had homemade bread since.

This afternoon, while wandering around on Lifehacker at work, I found a post on making fresh-baked bread quickly and easily. I scribbled down the recipe — 6 cups of water, 3 tablespoons of salt, 3 tablespoons of yeast, and 13 cups of flour — on a Post-It and stuck it in my purse.

As soon as I got home, I set to it.

I split the recipe in half, since the Lifehacker post is for a one- to two-week supply of bread that you ideally bake a loaf every day. I dissolved 1 1/2 tbsp of yeast and 1 1/2 tbsp of salt in 3 cups of hot water (I remembered from Culinary that the hot water makes the difference).

12/21/2009: Operation Fresh Bread: Dissolving the Yeast

Then I stirred in 6 1/2 cups of flour.

12/21/2009: Operation Fresh Bread: Flour

After the dough started to come together, I stripped off my rings and kneaded the dough with my hands. The scent of it was intoxicating.

When it reached the right consistency, I patted it into a neat little ball, scraped dough off of my fingers, and went to the sink to wash my hands. I didn’t get far before the urge to try some of the dough came over me. I pulled a little glob off of my left hand and popped it into my mouth. I knew instantly that I hadn’t fucked up the recipe; it had the perfect bread dough taste, with just the right amount of salt. I scraped as much dough off of my hands as I could and ate it before washing them, it was that good.

Then I put a towel over the bowl the way Noni always did when I watched her make dough and set it to rise.

12/21/2009: Operation Fresh Bread: Dough

If all goes well, I’ll have a nice hot slice of homemade bread with butter tomorrow morning before work with Noni, Popi, and Biz Noni. I might even put some grape jelly on it. My mouth just waters thinking about it, and my heart warms just a little bit.

That gaping hole is still there, but with little things like hot fresh bread and cards from my good friends online and off, it is a little less raw.

12/21/2009: Xmas card from Sarcastica

Behind the scenes of my awesomeness

Posted on by
Reply

In my high school class, I was the token goth chick, complete with black beeswaxed hair, black lipstick, fishnet, and awesome knee high (platform) boots. Dir en grey (during their super crazy goth days) were my inspiration:

(By the way, “Hotarubi” is my all-time favorite Dir en grey song. I loved them until I met them after a concert and they completely ignored me. Douchebags.)

My favorite outfit involved straight-jacket pants — you know, the ones with tons of belts and buckles preventing you from running if, say, a crazed serial killer or rapist (or your high school science teacher) came after you. And a trenchcoat. Oh yeah, I couldn’t survive without the trenchcoat. (I still have lots of this wardrobe in storage. It’s going to be fun whenever I get to look at it all again.)

Anyway, most people were either afraid of me, talked a lot of shit about me, or were morbidly curious and talked to me on occasion. Mostly, they just couldn’t figure me out. Back then, that bugged me. Now I think it’s pretty cool. However, if they had known my biggest secret, they might not have been so scared.

At 15, I still played with Barbies.

Whoops, there goes my street cred.

My sister and I always played elaborate, daytime Emmy worthy games with our Barbies that would last weeks if we were careful. We both had great imaginations, and since there weren’t any kids in our neighborhood to play with we spent a lot of time inside together. We had a few cars, a plane, a limousine, and two campers, and TONS of dolls. There were the two hot twin Kens, my New Kids On the Block Ken, my hispanic Barbie, my African-American Barbie with the super cool short and veryvery curly hair, the hot blond Barbie who still smelled like the perfume she’d been sprayed with in the factory over ten years before, and a whole bunch more that I don’t really remember.

That was the last year that I really played with them, but I’ll always remember the good times Lauren and I had, spending the days of our childhood actually playing out the lives of the people we’d made up rather than just dressing and undressing our dolls.

Now I’m older and it’s not kosher to play with Barbies anymore, but I totally want to buy a Barbie and make my own Barbie of the Undead. Seriously. Click it. You know you want to.

What was your favorite toy as a kid? What are your best childhood memories of that toy? Share in the comments below!

Review | Suite Scarlett, by Maureen Johnson

Posted on by
2

I finished Suite Scarlett early this morning (at about 2 or 3 am). Knowing that there is a sequel made it a lot easier to finish; I would be very, very sad if there was no sequel.

Initially, I thought Marlene was a brat and that Mrs. Amberson was a crazy bitch. I like how Marlene has come around. I still think Mrs. Amberson is nuts, and I think Scarlett is crazy for agreeing to work with her again, but I’m sure it will provide for an interesting premise of the next book.

I love that this book is divided up like a play, while the characters are actually putting on a play. In Act I, we get a description of the hotel before diving in. It’s Scarlett’s fifteenth birthday, which is the age when all of the Martin children get a room to maintain in the hotel they live in and run. In Act II, we learn about the Empire Suite, which is the room that the conniving and dramatic Mrs. Amberson stays in. The description before Act III tells us about hotel ghosts and the possibility of one in the Hopewell Hotel (the hotel Scarlett’s family runs). I’m not exactly sure how this is relevant, since there were never any ghosts mentioned in Act III, but it was still cool to read more about the hotel’s history.

Before the final act — Act IV — we learn about the hotel’s Depression booze brewing days. This is appropriate because the characters are throwing a play in the hotel behind the owner’s backs, and also because Mrs. Amberson orders a whole lot of champagne for the play.

I like that Maureen Johnson left the book open ended; we don’t know if Eric and Scarlett work things out (although I think he’s a douchebag and she should move on), we don’t know what happens with the casting call Spencer got invited to, and we don’t know if Lola and Chip get back together.

There were a lot of one-liners and situations that made me laugh out loud in this book, which I like in a book. I’m definitely excited for the sequel, and definitely looking forward to reading more of Maureen Johnson’s work.