cha no ma-ri

A graduate school classmate once told me that he never wrote without a bottle of whiskey nearby. We were in the same writing workshop and after I read his first screenplay, I thought maybe I should have a bottle of something nearby as well. If whiskey helped him produce such beautiful lines, maybe, just maybe it could help me.

It didn’t. My head just fell onto the keyboard a lot faster than sans alcohol.

Since that morning when I woke up with the ASDF and JKL; imprinted on my face, I’ve never had a bottle of wine, or spirits or beer on my desk as I write. Instead, wine is my little reward for being productive, even if what I have written is just a rough draft. It’s always the first pass I make at anything that flattens me. It’s the first attempt where I only begin to discover what I’m writing about that I find overwhelming. So for just getting words onto paper, I pat myself on the back with a sip of the good stuff.

After recently finishing a job writing about Cabernet Sauvignon, my awareness of red wines has grown exponentially. Whereas I used to head straight for the white wine section and pick up a bottle of Chardonnay or Pinot Grigio, lately I’ve been passing those aisles in favor of the deep, dark reds. Though I still don’t feel too well-versed in the different varietals, I do know that Cabernet is the great red grape of Bordeaux, and Shiraz is the big Aussie grape. We found this wine, 3Rings Shiraz Barossa Valley Southeast Australia 2006, at Costco, of all places. Hmmm. Never heard of the winery, but I did know that some of Australia’s great reds come from this region. Wolf and I looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders and said, “Why not?” It didn’t hurt that the bottle’s label was so attractive. Look:

Cute, huh? Now look at the back label:

“A donkey could make wine from the Barrossa grapes…” Clever, witty, charming. Someone wrote that. Someone probably had a lot of fun writing that. I’d like to write something like that. Oh, please, please, pretty please. If any wineries are reading this, will you hire me to write your labels?

But here’s the best part: this wine is pretty good. We aired it in large glasses for nearly an hour before drinking it with our lamb steak dinner. It’s aroma filled my nose with ripe blueberries. On the palate this wine was fruity and spicy yet smooth. A bit alcoholic, though, like it needed a little more time to age. This is a bold red wine that’s not overpowering. We also noticed an herbal, almost minty finish. It was a nice complement to our dinner, though I hear the 2005 vintage is better.

And is it true that good things come in threes? Today, I got word that a tiny little article I wrote will soon be published in a very cool new magazine. I’m not at liberty to talk about this just yet. Then another project I worked on was approved and I was given the okay to invoice. Which means I can buy another bottle of wine. And finally, after a couple weeks’ delay, I finally finished the first draft of a biography I’m writing for a very amazing filmmaker. Wednesdays can indeed be very good days.

I originally made this cookie last year after I got hooked on that ridiculous show “Nip/Tuck.” What a bunch of whack job narcissists. I kept watching because the show’s creators are smart enough to know that one way you capture audiences is to have one episode lead into another much like the chapters of a book. There was a thriller/mystery element in the first season, so I just had to watch all of it. Ditto, the second season. But the reasons I’m resurrecting this cookie now are twofold:

1. I have been too busy to bake and decorate something new this past week. Good thing I have a giant portfolio.
2. It reminds me of my mother.

Using a pre-fab image or template or stencil is an absolute no-no when it comes to my mother. I once made a Mother’s Day card for her using a flower stencil and she nearly hit the roof. “Did you use some kind of kit to make this?” She repeated the question several times before I confessed that I had. She gasped with disgust. “Well. You could have done better. Use your imagination next time.”

Yes, my mother’s a tough cookie.

But she was right. I should have used my imagination.

These butterfly cookies were made using a Martha Stewart butterfly stencil. It was part of a card-making kit that someone gave me and I never used until I learned how to use stencils for cookie designs from the great Toba Garrett. I have decided that if I use a pre-fab stencil, I’ll have to do something to make it unique. I placed several different colors on my offset spatula and wiped once across the stencil to get this marbled effect. The details were all hand-piped. And yes, I still have those stencils. And no, I have not made these cookies for my mother.

Have a groovy week.

Wait. Another fish?

After finally finishing Susanna Clarke’s terrific novel Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell, I browsed the shelf where I keep my used library book purchases and came across The Complete Guide to Fresh and Salt Water Fishing by Ray Ovington (Cornerstone Library, 1961. Out of print). The purchase of this little gem was not because I have aspirations of becoming a fisherwoman or a fishmonger; I had this idea that I would study some of the fish and perhaps use some of their likenesses for designs. The blue creature above is supposed to be a barracuda.

As I drew my fish onto my cookie, it looked progressively less like a barracuda, which Ovington describes as “generally thin with a long ugly fierce head containing dog-like teeth as sharp as a razor.” Well, that’s a description that comes to mind about a few people I know, but not this creature that was born on my kitchen table. Personally, I think he looks a bit like an overgrown minnow. Or a sardine. Or a…I’m not sure. Oh, for heaven’s sake, this is a cookie.

Hence the note across the top.

Have an okay week.

My mother has gotten so used to handmade gifts from me that I can’t give her anything else. I’m pleased, but it does mean that for occasions such as her birthday, Christmas and Mother’s Day, I have to plan well ahead of the event so that the item I make will arrive on time.

But this year, I’m way behind and because of work commitments I haven’t been spending too much time either in the kitchen or in the mischief mari sweatshop (also the kitchen, where our one and only large table stands). I still want to give my mother a one-of-a-kind gift, so last night I thought I’d take a quick look at the good stuff on Etsy…

A quick look at Etsy? Impossible. There are so many unique items by great artists, it’s hard to choose. I think I know what I’m getting my mother, but if you’re stumped for a few ideas, I found a few you might like:

These cool letterpress cards by amyb13. You won’t need to write much more to Mom with this one.

And how about these funky illustrations? From Norwegian artist Annette Mangseth.

We might have to fight over this guy’s ceramic works. KaratsuPots are made by an American based in Japan, so if you’re going to buy them, hurry! You’ll have to consider international shipping time and costs…

Another adorable letterpress design from Staza.

How about a really cool vintage garment? I think this gal has got an eye for vintage.

And through Etsy, I found this amazing textile artist. Oh. My. Goodness

You can always buy one of my things, but they really are silly and plain in comparison to the other real artists selling their works on Etsy.

Support handmade!

This is not a trick question. It’s not a joke either.

When things are quiet and people don’t return emails or phone calls, I browse jobs boards. As I mentioned earlier, I don’t really like skimming the boards, but with the economy slipping into darkness, I try to follow every lead and opportunity. So far, I’ve been lucky with the boards; I’ve found a few gems that led to really good gigs, but along the way, I’ve spotted some really awful, and I mean, dreadful listings. Here’s an example of what I’m talking about: (Warning: you might shriek).

“Hip new online information provider looking for writers to write articles on various topics. Articles should be 600 words +. Need 30 articles. Submit samples of your work. No plagiarism will be tolerated. I can easily find out whether you plagiarized or not. Once you are hired, you will have 7 days to complete the assignment. Budget for this project is very low, so please submit low (i.e. cheap) bids. Hint: $5 or less per article would be a good ballpark figure.”

The first time I saw an ad like this, I nearly gagged. What’s an online information provider? What did they mean by ‘articles’? And why on earth would I - or anyone in their right mind, for that matter - want to work for someone who suspects me of plagiarism before hiring me? And the pay? No one becomes a writer to make money, but unless you live in a developing economy and share a basement with 20 other starving writers, that pay will barely get you a small Americano at the local Starbucks.

Still, I was curious. I decided to respond to the ad. Two days later, I received a response: I was not hired.

But my curiosity was not satiated. In a bid to find out what I had applied for in the first place, I decided to write a short message sending my (insincere) regrets about not being chosen for the project. Which, by the way, was…?

An individual with a new website that included a blog. They were looking for a blogger. This is, as the New York Times put it, “the digital-era sweatshop.”

There are times when I honestly have to say, “Hooray!” when I don’t get hired.

I’m happy to tell you that this week, two great gigs came through. I’m getting a little more than $5.00 so I think I’ll treat myself to a LARGE Americano at Starbucks.

These cookies were inspired by a serial complainer. I’ll explain.

I know a woman who, before she got married, did nothing but complain about being single. On and on she whined about how hard it was to meet men, how she kept meeting the wrong guy, how she was about to give up on ever finding Mr. Right. She lived only a few blocks away from me in the West Village in New York, so we’d run into each other often, and as much as I tried to avoid her, she was one of those people who was hard to escape. Maybe I should have been rude and brushed her off, but, Mama raised a polite girl. I spent far too much time on street corners listening to her laments. I love Nueva York, but when I was dispatched to Tokyo, she was high on the short list of things and people I was glad to leave behind.

Imagine my surprise, when not long after moving to Los Angeles, I stood in front of a store window, looked at my reflection and behind me was Little Miss Serial Complainer. Our eyes met in the glass and I knew it: no escape. After a little chit-chat, I discovered she was no longer “Miss” but was now “Mrs.” Great, I thought. For a split second I hoped that she had changed, but when her husband showed up, I realized that she hadn’t. Oh, the litany of complaints. Everything from what he was wearing to his thick New York accent was wrong. She rolled her eyes and said in the most sarcastic tone, “I cast my line in the sea and look what I caught.” Goodness gracious, I thought. Did she really say that? Right in front of him?

Here’s the kicker: her complaining didn’t bother him in the least. Everything she said elicited a laugh from him. I think he found her amusing. And I guess he still does, because they just celebrated their twelfth anniversary.

I think when they met, he was wearing a sign that said, “Catch me!”

Recently on ABC World News Tonight, hosted by the not-so-adept-at-presidential-primary-debates moderator Charlie Gibson, a report mentioned that the current average price per gallon of gas in the United States is about $3.50. All I could think was, “That was so two weeks ago.” Look at those prices. I don’t like to speculate but I think $5.00 a gallon is around the corner.

Because I work from home, I don’t drive that much. I think I’ve refilled the tank on my very fuel-efficient Honda Civic about once a month since January, though when I look at my receipts, it feels like I’ve been filling up more. Each time I hit the pump, I’m paying up to 25% more than the previous time. Yikes.

Although it’s nearly impossible to live in Los Angeles without a car, I have, because of my work situation as well as my wish to reduce my carbon footprint, considered replacing my Civic with a lemon yellow Vespa. Or a motorcyle with a caboose attached so I could ride around town with the dog as my passenger (oh come on, humor me). Unfortunately, my husband has put a kibosh on the Vespa and the motorcycle because he doesn’t want to chauffeur me around on the days when I do need a car. “Maybe I can just rent when I need to,” I suggested. He countered: “How about this: I buy the Civic from you. You rent it from me when you need it.” Husbands.

So I’m keeping my car. After eleven years, it still runs like a dream. And it’s paid off, so, in addition to still looking pretty good, it’s a sweet ride. And as much as I hate to admit that my husband is right about something, I do need the car. But the two-wheel life still beckons. So this weekend, I’m pulling my bike out of the garage and taking it to the shop for a complete fix-up, maybe even a new paint job. I hope to ride it past gas stations and think to myself, “Take that, high prices!”

Have a good weekend.

One of the things I like most about the freelance life is that in between gigs I occasionally get nice stretches of time in which I can do almost anything I want. After writing for other people and before starting a new assignment (news flash! I just got an assignment with a nice new publication! more later), all I want to do is something completely different. Like baking. Or going to a museum exhibit. Or taking an uncrowded yoga class. Or reading those New Yorker magazines that have quietly piled up in the living room. I think my pile of New Yorkers goes back to January of this year.

When I get the magazine, I usually flip through it and fold it back to an article I know I’ll want to read later. This one, entitled “The Choice: The Clinton-Obama battle reveals two very different ideas of the Presidency” by George Packer, caught my eye not so much because it was about this year’s election but because of the illustration accompanying the text. This drawing of Hilary Rodham Clinton summarizes - at least to me - a lot of what she is. Tough, shrewd, intelligent, guarded and even suspicious. Always looking over her shoulder. When I read the caption, I thought, wow. Sometimes just a few words and a picture can say it all. (Click on the photo for a larger version).

I’m not a political junkie, and often, when the talk at the table turns to politics, I often tune out. I don’t have much of a head for it. I’m ashamed of that, because I feel disconnected from issues that I know affect me. But I know what I feel, and I’m not feeling Hilary. As much as I respect her intelligence, her drive, her commitment to her work, I just don’t feel her. I guess what I’m saying is I don’t feel inspired by her. I feel that I’m watching this woman pull all the stops on a mission to become the first female president, not the first female president who is going to really change things. And lordy, we need change.

Yesterday’s Democratic Primary in Pennsylvania left me a little verklempt. (Remember Mike Myers’s skit, “Coffee Talk” on “Saturday Night Live”? click here or on the video below) Not only was I hoping that Obama (he’s like buttah) would pull off a win, but that the battle for the Democratic nomination would be decided. Now it looks like the dueling between Hilary and Barack will last through June. June?!? Just thinking about that exhausts me. All the nasty attacks to come. All the new wrinkles I’ll see in the mirror. Oy. I’m really verklempt. So, here’s an idea: Talk amongst yourselves. I’ll give you a topic: Hilary Rodham Clinton is neither a rod nor a ham. Discuss.

Saturday Night Live - Coffee Talk

I think this will be the last time I try anything with this cookie cutter. I decided that he’s a panther, but he should not be pink. If I made him pink, things would just get too silly in the kitchen as I mimicked the inimitable Peter Sellers and that crazy French accent he immortalized. I can’t hold still when I watch the old Pink Panther films, or for that matter, any film with Peter Sellers because he was so damn funny. Have you ever seen “The Party“? When I first saw that film, I laughed my head off and repeatedly complained, “This is so silly. It’s too silly. It’s downright stupid. Why am I laughing so hard?!?” I spent the rest of the weekend giggling to myself every time I remembered Sellers saying, “Birdy num num?” Just thinking of that…I would never have been able to keep my hands steady and iced these cookies.

So I made the panther black. And then I didn’t know what to do with him. I was seriously stumped. This always happens when I start a design of an animal and it somehow resembles the real creature in shape or color or facial expression. Somehow I think I have to keep making it ‘real.’ It’s not possible. (Besides, it’s a cookie! A mischief mari cookie! It’s supposed to be different!) Or maybe the fact remains that I just don’t know what the heck to do with this shape. While letting the icing and sparkling sugar dry, I picked up a gardening magazine and came across a photo of some red grass called Japanese Red Grass. And suddenly I thought, well, this panther may look like others, but he doesn’t have to be like others. He walks where he wants to walk. On red grass. The corner cookies and edges I decided to do at the last moment, but I’m not sure they really work. The whole thing is meant to look like a page from a photo album. But…

Nah, somehow, I’m not feeling this panther. I do like the idea of using a frame around the cookie - and I’m definitely going to expand on that in the future - but the poor panther. He has no zing nor mischief. Oh well. Can’t make a masterpiece every time.

Have an okay week.

Since we moved into this house last December, we haven’t had much time to go out and explore our new neighborhood. Friends mention places we should visit and things to see, but something always comes up, or when we do have the time, we’re too tired to get out and explore.

One thing I wished I had known about and really wished I had pushed myself to see was last month’s Sierra Madre Wistaria Festival. The city of Sierra Madre is about a 15-minute drive from where we are now, and I just discovered that the world’s largest Wistaria vine lives there. Right in my backyard! William and Alice Brugman planted their vine in 1894 and it has since grown into a plant that yields one and half million blossoms, weighs about 250 tons, has 500-foot branches and spans over one acre. The Guinness Book of World Records lists it as the largest blossoming plant in the world. Apparently the spelling of the plant is either wisteria or wistaria. The folks in Sierra Madre insist on using the ‘a’ version.

The wisteria pictured here are from the vines that grow in front of Sierra Madre’s City Hall building. Because I often leave my brain at home when I go out, I didn’t bother to look up the address of the estate where the famous vine grows. And I don’t think it’s open to the public except during the festival anyway. Drats.

I still haven’t figured out what I want to do with my Fridays here in the cha no ma-ri. Although there aren’t any rules when it comes to what you talk about in a cha no ma (in Japanese, “tearoom,” the place where everyone gathers to talk about anything), I thought that giving myself regular posting days would help me keep some kind of structure, some kind of regularity in my otherwise unstructured and irregular life. Maybe Fridays will just be Fridays. You know. The day before Saturday.

Have an exquisite weekend.