Thursday, September 28, 2006
In writing news
Arbiter of Grammar and Style Goes Online
By DINITIA SMITH
There are those who say that in the Internet age the rules of grammar and style are dead. But the people at the University of Chicago Press, publisher of the Chicago Manual of Style, are not among them. And so starting tomorrow the manual — sometimes known as publishing’s Miss Manners — will be available online by subscription, meaning that those who need to know, pronto, whether it is ever all right to capitalize the first letters of e. e. cummings’s name will no longer have to search through the more than 956-page volume to find the answer. The price for the online manual will be $25 for individuals for the first year, $30 thereafter, and more for institutions, depending on their size. The list price of the hardcover print version is $55.
Children Get a Poet Laureate
By JULIE BOSMAN
The Poetry Foundation has named Jack Prelutsky its first children's poet laureate, in the hopes that the appointment will raise awareness of the genre and encourage more poets to write for children. Mr. Prelutsky, 66, is the author of more than 35 books, including "Behold the Bold Umbrellaphant, and Other Poems" (Greenwillow). Collectively his books and anthologies have sold more than a million copies. A Brooklyn native, Mr. Prelutsky has not always had a glowing opinion of poetry, which he began writing at 24. "For the longest time, I thought of poetry as the literary equivalent of liver," he said in a telephone interview. "It took me a long time to recover from that." He will receive $25,000 and the Children's Poet Laureate Medallion. "I'm honored and baffled by this whole thing," he said. "And tickled."
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Still crawling
I knew I was taking a chance w/ UWS's Silver Moon Bakery. After all, who's ever heard of them? They're certainly not written up in any of the gazillion cupcake critique stories out there. Accordingly, I have only myself to blame for the utter blahness I experienced when I took that first tentative bite. Let's just say that what you see above is now in the trash can at my feet. The 'tails: The cake tasted like sandwich bread--hardly sweet, at least not in the way a cupcake should be. Even worse, it tasted like stale sandwich bread. Apparently they try and counteract this w/ supersweet frosting, which also misses the mark. Irrefutably over-the-top, and overall cheap-tasting. Clearly, the only redeeming quality is that lovely lavendar rosette--but only for its looks. (I'd rather eat a real one.) You know the old adage: "A cupcake can't get by on good looks alone." Touche.
Get outta town. How can you possibly be so good, you of Yura & Company origin. You w/ your fussy little carrier (given your UES zipcode, I guess it's no wonder), your partytime sprinkles, elegant white swirl... You're too much! Well, too much for some--but not for me. I loved every last bite of you--from your pleasantly sweet, light-as-a-cloud frosting to the perfect springiness of your vanilla cake to the way your wrapper peeled effortlessly from your perimeter. Who created you? I'm looking for a god to worship.
Shoot though. Since I digested you last week, I don't suppose you'll be responding to my questions anytime soon. That is, unless your Creator is the kind that... Say, could you be floating around somewhere up there? Maybe it's time to whip out that Ouija board.
Thank god it was so small. It tasted like a rock. Nice website, anyway.
Oh K, oh K... To what do I owe such culinary kindness? You must have known I wasn't 100 percent--even 75 percent--taken w/ the earlier rendition, thus you took another stab. You used magic dust, right? Or at least special flour. Whatever--the result was smashing. Cake far from dry, frosting bountiful yet subtle (no bald spots here! more like the best kind of toupee), a single delicate candle... It's true what they say: The classier the lady, the classier the cupcake. I hope I can live up the gesture in this 29th year of living.
Hope
Today, my friends, is a very important day. Why? Because today I was assigned my first-ever meaningful task here at Big Screens 'R' Us. In fact, I'm presently taking a break from this very task to document it in my weblog.
I'm writing my very first press release! Go ahead, roll your eyes, but it's a big deal, considering 97% of my work (when I have work) revolves around scheduling appointments (not mine), recording press mentions, and scrubbing toilets (figurative, figurative). And while I regularly edit releases that my boss drafts, I haven't--until now--been able to write one. Of course it's frustrating, for the reason that one is given only so much creative flex-room in putting these things together. Pretty formulaic. But still, mark my word: I will find a way to sneak in a crazy adjective or two. That's right, I'll stick it to you, impressive; you, outstanding; you, unprecedented; and you--especially you--exciting. Death to boring adjectives!
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
It's a bird... it's a plane... it's, it's... cheez-its in love
K and I, w/o meaning to, initiated a workplace experiment: Just how much oil are two little crackers capable of leaking? Enough to saturate the entire cartoon? It's been two weeks; I've gotta think they're close to maxing out.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Petey donned his U.N. beanie for the occasion
Heck yeah he's 30. Nice work, S & J.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Loss
Since starting this job almost a year ago, religion has entered my life in a unique capacity. And when I say 'my life,' I don't mean it as much internally as I do externally--learning the beliefs of those close to me, beliefs very different from my own (to the extent that I understand 'my religion'). Accounts of sensitivity around the holidays--one of our Jewish CEOs requesting, indirectly, that my friend K remove the small tabletop Christmas tree decorating her desk; the total acceptability of Jewish employees opting to stay home on all Jewish holidays--plus the very visible, very vocal role that faith plays in the lives of two dear coworker-friends, have meant a whole different exposure than I had back in Seattle, where close friends and family tend to be less dogmatic in faith.
But in the confines of my NY office, it's very prevalent. Both of the coworker-friends I mention sing Gospel music aloud, and the one I sit next to routinely says 'praise God' while on the phone w/ friends and family. Sometimes every ten seconds. This same person, whom I have loads of respect for, I regularly bombard w/ questions about how God (as understood by her) accounts for various violations of human rights past and present, disease, premature death, etc., etc., etc. It always circles back to 'God's will,' to the incapacity of us mortals to see the greater picture/purpose. No surprise there.
K being black, and the two of us being okay w/ talk about a range of sensitive subjects, I brought up the question of slavery the other day, wondering how she feels--the emotions she experiences--when she reads books/watches films/hears accounts of how blacks lived and suffered during those times. Does she get angry? Sad? Incredulous? All of these, she explained--three in a long string of emotions, each and every time. Then I asked about (her) God's role, about how such a being could stand by as such immense tragedy played out. Because I just cannot get over this particular implication of a Christian god. (I know I'm inconsistent w/ the caps.) She hesitated, started to say something, and then brought up something else. I could tell it was difficult for her, which to me is the least surpising thing in the world.
This morning I sat down at my desk to find an email from Crazy Chrissy in my inbox. Expecting an invitation to some fun event--maybe a concert, a reading, happy hour--I fast realized this was an email of an entirely different nature. It was a message forwarded her by a coworker from a previous job--from Bowne, the placed I last temped before taking my current job, and the place where I met the lovely Chrissy. This coworker had written a brief paragraph explaining how one of the Bowne (later Lionbridge) VPs, Larry Wade, had been in CA for a wedding back in August. He and some pals had gone for a hike, and upon reaching a river, they decided to go for a swim. There was a waterfall, and beneath it, a strong whirlpool. Larry got caught up in it, and his friends were unable to get him out. He died, leaving behind a wife and three little kids. While I never had a full conversation w/ Larry, he was always very gracious, waving hello each time he walked past my desk. He hailed from Dublin, and he never failed to make me smile w/ that boisterous accent. He was all-around pleasant to be around, just so warm. He struck me a real dad-type, too, and I have no doubt he was an excellent father to his children. He was 42 at the time of his death.
Friends and family put together a tribute website where people can upload photos and write testimonials, and if they so desire, donate money to be put toward the kids' education. What an incredible, and incredibly loved, man.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Low
Today's NYT has a story about marathon entry fraud.
Meanwhile, the online marketplace for marathon bibs may continue to expand, even though runners competing under someone else’s name are not recognized in the official results.
"I would think that would be a hollow victory," Pinkowski said.
Exactly.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Splash*
New writing up. Brace yourself for long, undulating sentences. (Like a waterslide!)
*God I loved that movie.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Forget NCAA
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Linx
Looks like a worthwhile read. (Because there are points that we should all be able to agree on, no?) Were the monkey not on a chain (sad, sad, sad), this video might well be the cutest thing I've ever seen. Were I Jewish, this might come in handy. Were I president, this wouldn't be a story. Heartbreaking. Were I Johanna Bolton or anyone else mentioned in this incredible story, I would be eternally grateful. Were I Dale Hoiberg, I would've cursed the wit of my opponent. (Follow the link provided w/in to read the transcript.) More on Wales & Wiki: Wales said censorship was ' antithetical to the philosophy of Wikipedia. We occupy a position in the culture that I wish Google would take up, which is that we stand for the freedom for information, and for us to compromise I think would send very much the wrong signal... I like this man.
And this is pure entertainment.
*Image credit goes to these guys.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Run-ins
Whoa. Our new neighborhood teems--more than I thought, even. And Tea Lounge, place I walked past and immediately fell head-over-heels in love w/, is a mere two blocks from our new digs.
And Paul Auster...
5 years
It's breathtaking in person.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Big-time congrats to Auntie Sue (bottom right, w/o cap) for walking, and walking, and walking...
Friday, September 08, 2006
Warning: pee post
Something's amiss. Let me explain...
An hour ago I swung by Quest Diagnostics for my some routine 'betes-related testing. First up: the blood draw. Pathetic and embarrassing, but I near-hyperventilate just thinking about this procedure. I always make it a point to inform the phlebotomist of my irrational fear well before she does her thing, just in case doing so guarantees me a really great draw (via the extra care). This woman, pleasant and chatty, laughed and said, "Oh, you're too much." True enough.
Anyway, it was fine. Fast, painless. Great story, huh? Stay w/ me.
After blood came urine. Ah, everyone's favorite, the ol' pee-in-a-cup trick. Because I'm a decent human being, I'll skip to the end--to that part when you're left standing in the middle of a private bathroom, your right hand warmed by the golden specimen it's wrapped around. Generally, this rude sensation need not last long. Following instruction, you simply set your cup, capped tightly and marked w/ a personal identifier, on a designated shelf. W/ a thorough scrub of the hands, you're on your merry way.
Today, though, things went a little differently for me. First off, at the point that I was ready to hand off to the shelf, I realized the bathroom was not furnished w/ one. The words of the friendly phlebotomist came back to me: "Just bring your sample back here [bloodletting room] when you're finished." I then realized there was no lid to go w/ my cup, nor was there a strip w/ my name on it. It could be anyone's! What if there's a mix-up?! What if someone else gets my diabetic pee? What if I end up w/ a meth addict's pee? Most unprofessional if you ask me. Gingerly setting my cup on the floor, I washed my--wait, no water? None of that deliciously foamy soap to go w/ it? Nothing! Remembering that I'd be handling the cup again anyway, I let it drop (the issue, not the pee).
More than a little freaked, I nudged the door open. There were several people--some staff, some patients--filling the small hallway, and while I knew my room was close, anxiety was clouding my ability to recall details. Is it that room two doors left or the one just right? By now I had completely cleared the bathroom, putting my pee and I in full view of passersby. I took a left that should've, turned out, been a right, and when I went to correct myself, I felt the pee slosh in its cup. Whoa! This was followed by visions of dampened pant hems, disgusted faces, injurious slips... Oh, to hell w/ it. I walked into the nearest empty room and placed my cup, its contents exposed to plenty of airborne bacteria by now, on the handiest surface I could find (probably too close to the computer, but hey) and aimed to jet. On my way down the hall, I caught sight of my phlebotomist. Muttering and pointing, I made it clear where my pee was resting. Then I realized I was w/o wallet. Which meant I still needed to locate my room. Thankfully, w/o that cup in hand, my brain function restored itself and things fast settled out.
I swear, if ever I could've benefitted from an open container law... HA!
Thursday, September 07, 2006
The real thing
So my memory isn't perfect--no sweatband, no horse--but I was kind of close, no? I knew there was red in there somewhere...
Hehe, she was pretty off-track at first.
In-Mazda concerts
Oh! This song!
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Whoosh
R.I.P., foul red loaner umbrella. You probably lost me a friend. What's that? It was the wind that did this to you? Pssh. If you'd had a (stronger) spine...
Homemade, heartmade
This earnest little mound, my preferred white-on-white, was presented to me by the oft-mentioned coworker-poet-friend. Crafted in honor of her son's 11th birthday, the number one ingredient was not flour, not eggs, not baking powder; it wasn't even sugar. Love. Lovelovelovelovelove. The first six ingredients at least.
Accordingly, it's w/ a heavy heart, a heart so weighted it's entered my bladder, that I bring forth a review of...
Mediocre. Because while the act was born of pure goodwill, the token itself fell short.The cake was dry, albeit w/ a pleasing hint of almond flavor. Frosting wasn't half-bad, had there only been more of it. (Bald spots, while nature's prescription when revealed atop my dad's head, are unacceptable in the world of cupcakes.)
Next up?
Doriffic
Doris Brown Heritage was my cross country coach for the year that I ran at SPU. While the good times are countless, there's one vision that stands out: It was sometime in August when the team headed to the Oregon Coast for our annual summer retreat, a guaranteed weekful of challenging beach runs, teammate bonding, bottomless spaghetti, and all the homemade brownies we could stomach.
Doris's 57th birthday happened to fall on one of the days we were to be down there, so of course we had to stage a celebration. We stopped at an outlet mall along the way, picking up balloons, streamers, sillystring, and a pinata from Where's The Party. On the evening of Doris's big day, a few of us took her on a run while the others went to town w/ the decorations, stringing the patio of our beachside cabin w/ crepe paper and a cheesy banner. Upon her return, we blindfolded Doris and handed her a bat. We told her to take a good hard whack at the rainbow horse hanging before her, which she did. Over and over again. Now, however ripped she is (muscularly speaking), w/ not an ouce of fat on her form, Doris is not an imposing figure. On the contrary, she's about 5'2" and very small-boned. So if you can imagine one such woman, dressed in a tracksuit w/ a bright red sweatband stretched across her forehead, whacking away tirelessly (and blindly) at a dangling piece of cardboard in the manner of a wood splitter, you've got it. In due time, Doris had Starbursts and Jolly Ranchers flying in every direction. When I say I've never laughed so hard--tears, snot, doubled over, all that--I might actually mean it. Top ten, anyway.
But while this story sans context might sound reducing, even kind of demeaning, you have to know a little about the woman in order to appreciate its broader application.
Doris Heritage, a two-time Olympian and five-time world cross country champion, started what would become a lifelong running career, in saddle shoes. Growing up a girl in the 50s, she was of course denied the right to participate in school sports, so why outfit her in trainers? Thus, in footwear typically paired w/ frilly jumpsuits, she joined her Gig Harbor friends on bikerides--running along beside them. She was also known to speed repeatedly up and down her driveway. Whatever it took to get her fix.
Without such relentlessness, it's hard to imagine Doris would've made it as far as she did in an environment so wary of athletic women (they'll get arthritis!). But she's crazy, crazy in the absolute best possible way, which I believe permitted her to whack her way from dirt roads & 'no girls allowed' to Olympic stadiums & world bests. Following a total hip replacement in 2004, the woman's still swinging.
Below, a recent reference to Doris (page 2) in the current RW. Hardly close-mouthed when it comes to her Christian faith, she speaks often of the interrelatedness of her running practice and her spirituality, as she does here.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Bizarrity
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Spent much of last week laboring over the RW assignment, fiddling w/ phrasing, striving desperately to whittle what I had down to the requisite 220 words--the narrative portion of the column (in addition, there's the featured recipe, a picture of said recipe, and a small bio of the chef). It was tough, as brevity has never been a strength of mine. That said, it’s a great exercise, as it forces a writer to recognize and hone in on only the most crucial elements of a given story.
So my first draft, submitted Tuesday, was returned to me w/ several points for clarifying, and while I thought I’d addressed every last one in draft #2, submitted Thursday, one thing remained unclear to my editor. I spoke w/ her about it and settled up quickly, but still, I was disappointed not to have nailed it on my second stab. Especially since it’s such a short piece. Confessing to an editor-friend last night, I got some reassurance (‘totally a normal, expected part of the process’), but still, the regret is w/ me today. I’m trying to get past it, and I know I’m being overly sensitive, but at this early point in the freelance-game I’m just really aware of the importance of developing solid, trustworthy relationships w/ editors. I want her to keep me squarely in mind--the front of the mind, ideally--for future assignments, you know? Anyway…
This is exciting stuff: That piece about the all-female comedy hour (Chicks & Giggles) I wrote about several months back has been accepted for publication in BUST--and in the very next issue, even! Great for two reasons: (1) I really like the magazine and consider it an honor to be included, and (2) I really like C&G and the women involved and am so happy to bring them this much-deserved press. And you know, they basically wrote the thing for me, so heavily I relied on their insights and their hilarity (talk about easy quotes! I need to interview comics more often). It’ll be on the shelves end of September, so be looking!
Also on the writing front, I was alerted a few weeks ago to a certain website/blog that publishes humor writing. Checking it out, I immediately liked it, and decided to send something for consideration. As of Monday, it’s up. (You’ll recognize it right away, but keep reading--I made some changes/additions. Oh, and please don't fault me for the smidge of embellishment re: the whole 'comfort in public speaking' thing.)
I want to write about last weekend’s half marathon (a success!), but that’ll have to wait. That cupcake may, ahem, be coming back to haunt my tummy…
Cupcakery
Like many, I'm cupcake-obsessed. At its best, this time-honored dessert, topic of dozens of articles over the last year, delivers the perfect combination of toothsome and cute. Recalling to mind birthday parties held at the local skatedeck (the rainbow chip cake paired w/ rainbow chip frosting had my vote--that is, until Baskin Robbins' Grasshopper Pie knocked it flat sometime around junior high), they're also totally nostalgia-inducing.
That said, I'm currently in the middle of a hardcore cupcake crawl, at times frightening myself over the fervor w/ which I'm pursuing it. Be warned: As w/ several past blog entries, this one, a kind of scorecard, is more for myself than anything. So I don't choose wrong in the future, you know? After all, nearing 29, I'm beginning to detect a certain frailty of mind/memory.
Amy's Bread (center cc): I dropped by Amy's en route to last week's Jon Stewart taping (did I mention? no shock: hilarious), all revved to drop a white-on-white* down the hatch. I ended up w/ dark-on-dark, my only option. Not sure if they do a white cake, but if word reaches me, I'd consider going back. In sum, this one certainly had appearance going for it, w/ those whimsical dot-sprinkles and soft serve-style frosting design. It was too rich for my liking, but to the double-chocolate fan it might be just the thing. And I could tell it was quality--cake was springy and moist, frosting not too sweet--which has me convinced they'd do (do do?) a mean double-vanilla. The only real downside: that weird wrapper, which when I went to remove it, took some of the cake w/ it. It being chocolate, I didn't much care, but still, they should really do something about this.
Buttercup Bake Shop: A 10-minute jaunt from my place of work, BBS delivered a decent mid-afternoon snack. My vanilla cc was topped w/ a thick swirl of pale green frosting and a few pastel sprinkles, making it cute enough, but I found the frosting a little too sweet (less of it probably would've done the trick) and the cake a bit dehydrated. Still, I liked it well enough, and I'm sure I'll be back.
Magnolia Bakery: They’re just too over-the-top sweet, if you ask me. Adorable--again, in that fluffy-pastel sort of way--but that frosting. Kind of ick. Not only is it really, really sugar-spiked, but it’s dense, heavy. These cc’s remind me a little of Seattle’s Cupcake Royale (think it’s the cake), only CR is way better. On the few occasions I’ve given a try, although I finish w/o help, I end up choking down the last couple of bites.
Mitchel London/Burgers & Cupcakes (left of center): B&C is the newish venture of Mr. London, so same cc’s as his shop in UES. While at B&C some time back, I scarfed a double-vanil (or was it choco-vanil?) seconds before biting into a cheeseburger. This ‘sweet followed by savory’ could've hedged any excessive sweetness that might have otherwise lingered. Either that, or the cc’s were right on. Looks-wise, I actually found their relative plainness refreshing. Surrounded by so many prissy-cute competitors, this cuh-cake screams real thing. As in, ‘Get your tiny silver balls off me! Pink rosettes? What do I look like, some kind of sissy?!’
Sage American Kitchen (right of center): When I first laid eyes on it, this Hostess rip-off didn’t have me too optimistic. I figured I’d handle two bites at best, so rich looking it was. However, product of an ambitious lunchtime stroll, it came through in the end. Chocolate through and through, to be sure, but in the form of a gentle second-cousin. Yummy. Still, it should be noted that this guy, purchased for $4 from Cafe St. Bart’s, is damn costly, considering cc’s generally hover in the $2 range. And actually, he’s supposed to come w/ a brother, a brother AND a scoop of ice cream. For $8. This is because Café St. Bart's is not the cheapy little walk-up place I’d envisioned, but a $35 entrée/formal restaurant w/ ambient lighting. Lone cupcakes, even ones w/ charming white squiggles, rarely make the dessert menu at such places. But, since I’d clearly made the journey w/ one in mind (‘oh, I can’t get just one?’) , the waitstaff let me off the hook, pushing me out the door w/ my special request, boxed in white and placed in the bottom of a glossy paper bag, the kind w/ delicate braided handles. As if I’d gone for a cupcake and returned w/ a Harry Winston tennis bracelet.
Sugar Sweet Sunshine: Pea and I just two hours ago dropped by for a lemon-on-lemon. Good choice. I’d had the double-vanil before, which had hardly disappointed, but inspired by Pea, who ordered first, I whipped out my bravado and laid down the same request. Moist cake, perfect amount of frosting, naturalish lemon flavor… It may be time to rethink my exclusive vanilla approach. Still, the double-vanils at SSS are balanced and tasty, sliding convincingly into the #2 slot.
Babycakes NYC: Hands-down my favorite. Everything here is dairy-free, w/ several wheat-free and gluten-free options. They use natural sweeteners, which do nothing to compromise flavor and everything to please my inner-diabetic. The frosting is quite possibly the best I’ve ever had--just sweet enough w/ pleasing cream “cheese” overtones. The cake isn’t the moistest, but I always come off eating one of these w/ the impression that it wasn’t a cupcake but rather a slice of fresh melon that I just polished off (this being a good thing).
Starbucks(!): I’ve read the reviews (‘taste like they’re from a box!’ ‘fakey and artificial tasting!’ ‘who buys these?’), but I gotta say, I’m a repeat-buyer. Not of the double-choco, of course, but of the white-on-yellow. I do love a yellow cake, and theirs tastes pretty great to me. Maybe a tinge dry on occasion, but the frosting seems to make up for it. There’s more of it than I tend to appreciate, but the way it supports a solid blanket of yellow and white tiny-ball sprinkles--sprinkles that (a) are fun to crunch into, and (b) beg to be touched--well, I respect that.
Bruce's Cupcakery: I discovered this hole-in-the-wall bakery not online, but while walking to a Midtown alterations shop the other day. Their sign, ahem, takes the cake, as does their name. Unfortunately, the fun stops here. Although I’ve only been once, and although the tested cake was not of the conventional variety (peanut butter-on-peanut butter), I probably won’t go back. First, it weighed too much. The cake was too dense, resisting to a disturbing degree the tendency to crumble. And the frosting betrayed no hint of anything resembling peanut butter (same w/ the cake, actually), and reminded me of marzipan. The flavor was what I’d call ‘sweetness, non-specific.’
Billy's Bakery: I visited once a very long time ago, like my second week here, and recall thinking the cc’s tasted exactly like the disappointing Magnolia one I’d tried a few days earlier. It’s way over on Ninth or something; I probably won’t bother.
Delmonico: Random deli near my work from which I sometimes buy pre-made sushi. One day, while paying for said sushi, I acted rashly (‘I’ll have one of those, too’), and paid the price w/ a real dud. Thankfully I was able to pawn half of it off on an unsuspecting coworker, one too nice not to finish the whole thing in front of me--a display of gratitude. As if I cared. Anyway, it was big and dry w/ frosting that tasted like air. I was not amused.
To be tried:
Amy Sedaris @ Joe
Cupcake Cafe
Kitchenette
Crumbs
Polka Dot Cake Studio
William Greenberg Jr. Desserts
Yura & Company
*I'm no longer an 'all chocolate, all the time' gal. Unless it's in bar form, I'll take the vanilla, please.
