FUCKING HELL!

Not one, not two, but THREE spider sightings tonight!

I may have to move.

Fair enough, the first one was on my balcony, which I’m not pleased about but at least he’s outside. The other two?

IN THE SHOWER!

Let me just say that if I am naked and wet, I feel NO guilt about killing rather than escorting. The first one was small and I managed to smash him with the shampoo bottle. The second, though, made his appearance as I was drying off.

I don’t actually remember getting out of the shower, but somehow it happened. I got the trusty spider-killing shoe and laid in wait for him, but he was damned fast. DAMNED fast. I’ve had to leave him, which (and Phill agrees with me) means that I can never use that room again. For now, I will leave the mashed corpse up on the wall in an attempt to give the other spider the opportunity to exit through whichever means he entered.

I will leave you with Phill Jupitus’ very accurate description of arachnophobia, although, I have to say that, before the movement in the peripheral vision, I get a feeling that I’m being watched (and, of course, I kill rather than escort - I tried it once but the spider managed to get a web started while he was being transported, so when I flung him away, he just sort of swung out in a gentle arc over the edge of the balcony and then back towards me - much screeching ensued).

 

Teh kittehs say…

It is hot today. I had to turn the air conditioner on again. Boo! But it was in the 90s and it seemed even more foolish to not use it since I have it. As you can see, it blows right across the head of my bed (and is thunderously loud), so I can’t have it on at night. Arthur and Josephine enjoy lounging directly in front of it while they can, though.

Luckily, it’s still dipping down to the high 60s at night. Good sleeping weather!

 

Garden goings-on!

After about a month of pure laziness - shame on you! - the meyer lemon plant is finally doing something… It is starting to flower!

I don’t know why I find the avocado plant so ominous, but I do:

I feel it’s not so much as doing something as…plotting. Know who else is plotting?

The pumpkin plant is making a bid to wrest control of the balcony from the eggplant, who is distracted at the moment, being rather busy making…eggplants!

Off in its own corner, the tomato is blissfully thriving:

 

My first harvest!

As I was getting ready to have my dinner, I went out to water my garden and discovered that my ear of corn was finally ready to be picked!

Very exciting, no? But once I picked it, I realised ‘Well. Now I’m going to have to eat it.’

It didn’t really complement my leftover Thai food, but it was still yummy, slathered with butter and showered with salt.

I can feel my arteries clogging as I type, but it was worth it.

 

Holy cake disaster, Batman! Redux Or,…

…how to make a cake with all the right ingredients.

Remember the bizarro cake? Well, I looked in my kitchen the other day and thought ‘Cream, cake flour, corn syrup, candy thermometer…wait a minute, I can make bizarro cake!’ The only ingredient I didn’t have was buttermilk and, rather than tempt fate, I decided to go out and get some.

This cake is much easier to make when you have all the ingredients. There was only the tiniest reservoir this time, to my great relief, and no weird, curdled caramel. I will admit that I may have slightly burned the caramel, but it still tastes good. The general warning I’ve been giving people is that if you like your marshmallows on fire and then blown out, this cake is for you. If you like your marshmallows with an even, gentle golden brown, this cake is not for you. I think it’s sort of mellowed a bit in the fridge (and with a few days of age), but the warning still stands.

But, yes. Yummy. One of the girls at work declared it her favorite of all the things I’ve brought so far.

ETA: Oh, I forgot. Bizarro cake is not its proper name. It is caramel cake courtesy of Smitten Kitchen.

 

Fiction: Graphic Novels

Mr. Fooster Traveling on a Whim by Tom Corwin (writer) and Craig Frazier (illustrator)

I can’t quite decide what I thought of this book. It takes about five minutes to read, so you could just do it at the library or the local bookshop, but, at least for me, I think it’s going to take a deal of pondering before I can make up my mind about it. I want to like it. It’s lyrical and quirky and has charming, slightly surreal, cross-hatched, sepia illustrations.

But what I can’t decide is if I think it’s trying too hard to be lyrical and quirky and so on. Its charms don’t feel effortless or honest and the whole thing conjures up comparisons with Shaun Tans amazing Arrival and, one of my all-time favorites, Chris Van Allsburg’s The Mysteries of Harris Burdick. And, unfortunately, when compared with those two, it falls a bit short.

I guess what I’m saying is, have a quick look through Mr. Fooster at the library or bookshop, but then head to the children’s section and take home the other two.

My rating:

Art: A-

Story: B-

 

YA Fiction

Stop in the Name of Pants by Louise Rennison

Oh, Georgia, you are vair amusant! In her ninth (ninth!) outing, she and the ace gang are up to their old tricks (i.e., boy drama, Stiff Dylans gigs, persecution at Stalag 14, boy drama, the Loon family, Viking dances, boy drama…well, you get the picture). There was a moment of sadnosity, but it soon passed as these are funny pants books and once again all was well. All I have to say, really, is Georgia, you are full of fabulosity, but if a boy makes you laugh and says ‘Bugger, it has to be done’ before he snogs you, you CHOOSE HIM, no matter how gorgey the Luuuurve God may be.

My rating: A-

 

Huh.

Well. I…don’t really know what to think. For some reason, I think it was a bit of a letdown. And more sad in so many ways than what I was expecting. Mainly what I keep thinking was ‘Well, that was unsatisfying…’

And not even a hint of the Christmas special (I assume there’ll be one…)!

 

In which I am not a happy camper…

So. Yesterday was not a great day in the kitchen. I managed to end up with a few edible things, but the amount of time, ingredients, and frustration that went into them were verging on the overwhelming.

This is batch two of the dulce de leche macarons (recipe from Tartelette):

I know, I know, when photographing macarons, you’re supposed to go for the artful stack of them, but if I’d done that, then you would have seen how they’re not all the same size. Also, I made them too big, I think - they’re almost too sweet for words. Basically, it’s just a convenient way to eat dulce de leche without getting too sticky. Which is not a bad thing, but I can really only manage one a day and I have to chase that with a large glass of milk. (Also, I think I overcooked my dulce de leche so it’s a bit stiffer than I was hoping for. Still, not a bad thing, just a note.) I also forgot to make the praline crumbs that Tartelette adds in her version. I’ll definitely attempt macarons again, as there were several extenuating circumstances that may have contributed to their less-than-perfect state (it was very hot and humid and I forgot to let the egg whites sit out for a couple of days beforehand). As you’ll see, it was just that kind of day.

Then came the orange cake.

Oh, the orange cake. I made not one, but two of these before switching recipes and getting an edible version. By the time I made this one, though, I was running out of ingredients (and the recipe is from one of those inexplicably UK-written bargain books that are pretty much ubiquitous at Borders and called for things that I didn’t have on hand), so there is almost one substitution too many. Not quite, but it’s close.

For the self-rising flour, I used a combination of all-purpose flour, baking powder, and salt (next time I’d try using cake flour, I think, to try and improve the cake’s texture). For the custard powder, cornstarch. I no longer had enough oranges for the cup of orange juice, so I used 1/3 cup orange juice and 2/3 cup milk. I think that was it.

Oh, no, I forgot - for the 9-inch baking pan, I used an 8-inch (not purposefully, although I don’t think I have a 9-inch one, so I would have had to do something, at any rate) which added some baking time and, I think, contributed to the cake being on the dry side. It’s not horrible, but I was expecting a very moist cake and this was close but not quite. It did actually improve after spending the night in the fridge and it’s definitely a recipe I’ll try again (with more of the correct ingredients, hopefully), but it was a bit of a disappointment.

 

I HAVE FORGOTTEN HOW TO BAKE!

Apparently.

Right now, in my trash can are one batch of macarons and not one, but TWO failed orange cakes. Argh! I have only ingredients and time enough to make one more cake (no, I’m not wasting time by typing this, I’m waiting for the butter to come to room temperature) before I’m meant to be at my friend’s house, tasty treats in hand.

Fucking hell.

ETA: Uh, note to self: If a recipe calls for a 9-inch round cake pan, DO NOT use an 8-inch round cake pan. NOT COOL.

 

Summer blockbuster tally, part 6

So after the moral/laughter dilemma that was Wall-E, I decided I wanted something that more aptly fell into the category of Summer Blockbuster. In other words, something mindless, full of plot holes, a few explosions, a car chase here and there, and a bit of eye candy.

Sound good? Then get your bloodlust on and head down to your local cinema and watch the MOST AWESOME MOVIE OF THE SUMMER!

Seriously. It is so full of the awesome, I can barely type straight! Wanted is definitely not what I usually look for in a movie, but it was definitely what I needed today. I’m not going to bore you with details (and really, neither is the movie), but James MacAvoy + Angelina Jolie + Sooper Sekrit Assassin Agency = MADE OF WIN!

I was pleasantly surprised that James can carry an action movie on his slight Scottish shoulders (awesome American accent, by the way, James!), especially after the more cerebral films (The Last King of Scotland, Atonement) and the romantic ones (Becoming Jane). The only problem is that, in the right light, he is the spitting image of Zach Braff:

so every once in a while, I expected him to look up and launch into an elaborate fantasy sequence or voiceover. I don’t think I’m spoiling anything by telling you that doesn’t happen. But I think he could be capable of picking up where Bruce Willis left off with the whole unexpected-hero genre. Angelina Jolie is fantastic - she’s so good in these sorts of roles (Gone in 60 Seconds, the Tomb Raiders, etc.) where she gets to just drape herself over any surface that stands still long enough (and some that don’t), I often forget that she’s actually a really good actress (although, really, it seems unfair that someone should be allowed to be so beautiful AND talented).

So, yes. Lots of blood and violence, but if you’re okay with that, it’s a very fun way to spend five dollars and a couple of hours (despite the lack of a blue Icee). And definitely a good way to get your adrenaline fix for the day - when I drove home, I was still all revved up, so know what I did? I shifted straight from third to fifth. Yeah, I’m badass like that. Fourth gear is for pussies.

Summer blockbuster tally = 3-2-1

 

In which I am needlessly brave…

…and exceedingly cowardly.

I was just getting ready for bed when I noticed a spider perched on one of the cabinets in my dressing/technology walk-through area (my apartment defies description). I quickly grabbed my designated spider-killing shoe (no treads for them to hide in) and, with a few squeals, dispatched with the intruder. I carefully (and at a distance) turned over the shoe, to make a positive ID on the corpse, only to be faced with…

…a small bit of grey string.

Which I then flushed down the toilet, just to be safe (in case the spiders have worked out some sort of cunning disguise).

I embrace my phobia; don’t you judge me!

ETA: I KNEW I WAS FEELING JUMPY FOR A REASON. A REAL, NON-STRING SPIDER HAS INFILTRATED MY HOME! HAD. HE IS DEAD NOW. I KNOW I SHOULD CATCH THEM AND TAKE THEM OUTSIDE, BUT I FEEL THAT TECHNIQUE REQUIRES ME TO BE WITHIN TOO CLOSE OF A RANGE FOR MUCH LONGER THAN JUST SHRIEKING AND ATTACKING BLINDLY WITH A SHOE ON MY HAND. ALSO, I DO NOT HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THEM FINDING THEIR WAY BACK INSIDE.

THANK YOU, TREAD-FREE SPIDER-KILLING SHOE!

 

Fiction: Essays

Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris

Now that I’ve read three (is that right?) in a row of his, I’m starting to see what Michael Ian Black was talking about (I’m pretty sure he’s sort of joking, but, either way, I can see why it’s funny [or true]). First I liked him, then I didn’t want to like him, and now, building on my desire to dislike him, I’m starting to wonder what it is that makes David Sedaris’ writing so special (more specifically, why he deserves an apartment in New York, one in Paris, and a house in Normandy). When I read his books, I keep thinking ‘I could write this!’ not unlike walking through MOMA or the Tate Modern and thinking ‘Well, I could paint a canvas red’ (or wherever it is - you know the one I’m talking about).

Of course, maybe that’s the true mark of the artist - you know how in the summer, when you watch Wimbledon and it’s Federer vs. Nadal and they just look so effortless that you just think ‘Oh, anybody can play tennis, heck, I could do that if I felt like getting off this couch.’ And then you debate getting up to get another Fla-Vor-Ice and try to convince your cat to do it for you instead.

But you get my point. Maybe the very fact that I’m starting to question Sedaris’ talent is the tip-off that he actually does deserve his romantic, jetsetting life.

In other Sedaris news, I think I may actually be his female counterpart (I’ve decided I’m not going to examine the fact that I want to dislike him - that could get pretty disturbing pretty quickly). Seriously. Not writing-wise, but, like, fundamentally, I’m starting to think we may be the same person. To wit, when lamenting his single status (shortly before meeting Hugh, his soon-to-be long-term partner):

Another part of the problem had to do with my long list of standards. Potential boyfriends could not smoke Merit cigarettes, own or wear a pair of cowboy bots, or eat anything labeled either lite or heart smart. Speech was important, and disqualifying phrases included ‘I can’t find my nipple ring’ and ‘This one here was my first tattoo.’ All street names had to be said in full, meaning no ‘Fifty-ninth and Lex,’ and definitely no ‘Mad Ave.’ They couldn’t’ drink more than I did, couldn’t write poetry in notebooks and read it out loud to an audience of strangers, and couldn’t use the words flick, freebie, cyberspace, progressive, or zeitgeist. They could not consider the human scalp an appropriate palette for self-expression, could not own a rainbow-striped flag, and could not say they had ‘discovered’ any shop or restaurant currently listed in the phone book. [...] In terms of mutual interests, I figured we could spend the rest of our lives discussing how much we hated the aforementioned characteristics.

Now, it’s not the list of standards I identify with, but that last sentence - the thought that such petty things should be the basis for rejecting or pursuing a relationship. It’s probably human nature, but that’s what’s special about his writing - he makes me think ‘Yes, David, only I understand you. We are soulmates!’ when really everybody else reading it is thinking the same exact thing.

And again, Sedaris runs the gambit from laugh-outloud funny to literally crying (he was talking about having to put pets to sleep - what was I supposed to do?!). I have only Naked left (I haven’t decided about Barrel Fever as I don’t think I’ll like his stories as much as his memoir essays), but that’s okay because by the time I finish that one, there should be a new Temeraire book and then a new Artemis Fowl book (I’ve missed you, baby!).

My rating: A

ETA: Alas, my reading schedule has been thrown off by the new Georgia Nicholson book (how do these things keep sneaking up on me, I’m usually very on top of my book release dates?!).

 

Summer blockbuster tally, part 5

I actually saw this a few days ago, but I’ve been putting off posting about it because I still can’t decide what I thought of it. And I typed that last sentence a few days ago and still haven’t decided.

For starters, this is a much darker movie - darker like The Incredibles was dark, dealing with a quite scary (for the grown-ups, at any rate) premise, but I’m not sure it redeems itself. It ends on what is meant to be a hopeful note, though I’m not sure it actually is and is not really reassuring at all.

And that’s the root of my problem. Wall-E (the character) is really, really cute and whenever he did something funny, I’d start to laugh. And then I’d remember what started all this and I would start to think ‘Oh. It’s not really funny, is it?’ But I think I was meant to laugh and that’s what I find unsettling. There are also some other things that made me uncomfortable (the robots in the maintenance ward and what we evolve to [though that may just be me and my vague food issues]) and I think the filmmakers wanted me to laugh at them.

About ten minutes into the movie, I thought ‘Crap. I’m going to have to buy this movie.’ Not because I really think it’s one I’d enjoy watching over and over again (unlike Ratatouille or The Incredibles), but because I’m absolutely desperate to watch it with a director’s commentary (which Pixar usually provide). I have to know if they meant to unsettle their audience (the grown-ups - kids won’t realise what’s so scary about all this) or if that’s just me projecting my various fears onto the movie.

So, I’d say go see it - it’s interesting (both for the reasons I’ve talked about and the fact that Pixar have made an essentially silent movie into a summer blockbuster) and well done - but I’ll warn you that I spent much of the movie on the brink of tears for one reason or another. If I’d been at home by myself, there would have been crying.

Of course, all of these complex emotions and conflicting ideas may have all been down to the fact that I was drinking a grape Icee INSTEAD OF A BLUE ONE! Seriously, my moviegoing world has been turned upside down. What is the point of going to a movie if you don’t leave it with a blue mouth?!

Seriously.

My rating: 2-2-1

Semantics note: I’m calling this one a draw because I think it was a good movie, but I don’t think I enjoyed it and that’s really all that counts in the summer blockbuster tally.

Safety note: Avert your eyes during the previews. Beverly Hills Chihuahua will make you lose the will to live.

 

Surprise!

It’s the chocolate surprise cookies from Martha Stewart via the Cookbook Junkie via Nosh With Me!

I changed the process for the frosting slightly in an attempt to prevent the carob from acting up. I don’t know if it was that or if the humidity was just right, but, at any rate, whatever I did worked! So here’s how I made the frosting:

Adapted from Martha Stewart’s Cookies

Frosting Ingredients

• 6 tablespoons unsalted butter, room temperature
• 1/4 cup plus 1 1/2 teaspoons carob powder
• 3 cups confectioner’s sugar
• 1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons 1% milk
• 3/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

With a mixer, whip the room-temperature butter. Add carob powder and beat until well combined. Add confectioner’s sugar, one cup at a time, alternating with the milk. Stir in vanilla extract. Mix well until the frosting reaches a spreadable consistency.

Oh, and what’s the surprise?

Marshmallows!

Vegetarian guilt note: I realised after I was in the middle of making these that marshmallows probably contained gelatin and would not actually be vegetarian. Unfortunately I was right. I kept going, figuring it was best not to be wasteful and that the cows are not being slaughtered just for their hooves, so I’m doing my best not to feel guilty about eating these. I think I’ve seen veggie marshmallows though, so look for those or make your own, substituting vegan gelatin or agar agar, of course!