Snow Follows Me Everywhere

I don't know if I've mentioned here before that I'm giddy with joy that my story is featured in the upcoming issue of American Short Fiction.

They had a reading scheduled for this past Friday, at which an excerpt from my story was going to be read -- but it was rescheduled due to snow. Yes -- snow in Austin. Clearly, simply speaking my name was enough to bring wafts of snow down from Minneapolis. I am a chilly mortal.

Anyway, check out the saga on their blog, which is worth reading.

Also, check out the blog of this Austin resident: Amelia Gray.

Once upon a time, Amelia and I went to high school together, back in Tucson, Arizona. We didn't become friends till Senior Year, which I viewed as an opportunity sorely wasted. Amelia intimidated me because she actually wrote things, while I just thought about writing things. She had a play in the school's student playwriting contest (which I didn't know existed). She and her writing were funny and sharp. We stole hard cider and sherry from my parent's fridge to drink (that's what you get when you raid the liquor cabinet of academics). We went on a camping trip together, if you can picture that (I'm not sure camping naturally springs to mind when you think of me).

She went to Arizona State and I saw her briefly in Phoenix once, when I was in town for a night before catching a plane. She was reading If On a Winter's Night a Traveler and was a little distracted.

We crossed paths again briefly after college. She was on her way to an MFA program while I was just thinking about going to MFA programs.

We've crossed paths twice as AWP; the first time, in Austin, she was mid-MFA program, and I was mid "Maybe I want to switch MFA programs?" This last time, in Chicago, I stopped by the American Short Fiction table and was delighted to find excerpts from Amelia Gray -- excerpts from her book!

I think I babbled something incoherently to the person manning the table "She's my friend! From high school! She has a book! Is she here? Have you seen her?" Which I'm sure did make me sound weird at all.

I tracked down the table of the publisher -- Featherproof Books -- and there she was, with copies of her very own book. Which I bought and read the entirety of on the L train the next day. It's really good.

Now we are both in the latest issue of Annalemma. Here's a review of the issues that praises Amelia's story and says "there isn't a dull story in the lot," which I guess by implication calls my story...not dull?

And, full circle, Amelia lives in Austin, I've got a story in American Short Fiction, and a friend of Amelia's is going to read it, when I stop sending snowstorms their way.

Sorry for the fangirl babbling. Hi Amelia! I still think you are funny and sharp and still feel a little intimidated by you, in a good way. Come to Minneapolis sometime if you like snow! There's plenty to enjoy.

Dear Breast Cancer Awareness Fundraising Committee

Whoever Happens to Be In Charge of Marketing/Fundraising for "Money to Fight Breast Cancer",

I know that pink is the "official" color of Breast Cancer. Because women like pink, or because the insides of our boobs are pink, or whatever. I get that. It's annoying, but I get that.

I understand that for this reason you want to incorporate pink into the marketing materials that you send out. I also know that direct mailers are an important source of revenue to non-profits and for-profits alike.

However, here is the thing: when you send me a white envelope with one those clear plastic bits that lets you see the letter inside and that letter inside is pink, do you know what I think of?

Hmmm? Pink: alarmingly, eye-catchingly shining through a white business envelope?

Duh! It looks like an overdue bill! Your fundraising letter looks like an overdue bill!

Maybe I am an irresponsible person because this was my first thought. Maybe the other women of the pro-women mailing I got on because of Planned Parenthood are never late in paying for anything. But still, isn't pink in a business envelope kind of like the UNIVERSAL symbol for something is late?

So thanks for giving me a moment's panic, breast cancer people. (Wait, I paid all my bills! Is this that $20 dollars I still owe the dentist?).

Maybe this was your plan all along. Maybe the idea is that once people realize your letter ISN'T, in fact, the electricity company threatening to cut them off, they'll feel generous and want to give? Me, it just made me feel grumpy and I threw the letter away.

I thought you'd appreciate the feedback,

Easy O

REALLY old pictures of food

Okay, so I'm sick today -- down and out, out for the count, counted out, etc. I NEVER get sick, so I find the whole thing puzzling. I think, deep down, I have a healthy person's secret conviction that sick people are just faking. Actually getting sick is quite humbling.

I thought I'd take the chance to catch up on my blogging. I have lots of old ideas, pictures, etc. that during busier times simply sink to the bottom of my list. BAD BLOGGER. So today, I'd like to present a REALLY old installment of...

The Nervous Chef

Tagline: "Not Nervous? Well, you should be."

What's the Nervous Chef, you ask? The Nervous Chef is a cooking show that I have in my head. It's basically me cooking. It makes me nervous. Especially when other people are around. I tend to do dumb things, like putting in five cups of milk when making frosting, instead of the required .5 (that decimal point is easy to miss!). Most of my cooking involves me fucking up and figuring out a way to cover up said fuck up.

Today, the Nervous Chef Makes Deconstructed Lasagna!

I was asked to bring Italian Food to a dinner party and wanting to be different, took the suggestion to make "deconstructed lasagna." I'd also watched the "Top Chef" episode where they have to make a deconstructed meal and so the thought made me feel fancy.

I used this recipe. I'd never used Rachel Ray before and have this received idea that I'm supposed to dislike her. But I found the recipe actually lived up to its promise of being easy and easily done in thirty minutes. This worked well for me, as I'm someone who leaves shopping and cooking till way too late in the day. As it was, I was only half an hour late for the dinner party; with a more complicated recipe, I may never have arrived.

My changes to recipe: despite having recently begun eating meat again, I made this vegetarian, using vegetable stock and no beef crumbles. This was a mistake, I feel -- the result was a little bland. I did also add some cumin, which I thought worked well and would recommend.

My big problem, at the end of the day, was the fusilli pasta. I know it made the recipe quicker, and is a different "take" on lasagna, but I thought it ended up looking like spagetti-o casserole:

So, I added some reggiano cheese on top, which helped:

Because I made it one big pan rather that individual servings, I put all the ricotta at the bottom in one layer, which I thought looked quite cool:

So, what was the result, Nervous Chef?

I arrived at the dinner party and plunked down my deconstructed lasagna right next to a baked ziti, which looked almost exactly the same, just with penne.

"What did you make?" I was asked.
"Deconstructed lasagna," the Nervous Chef answers, proudly and nervously.
"What's that?"
"You know...it's deconstructed."
"How?"
"Well, just...different kinds of noodles...the sauce and noodles are cooked separately...and I've got extra cheese for you to add yourself, you know, on the side..."
"Isn't this basically baked ziti?"
"Well, you know, it's deconstructed..."
Nervousness very high now.
"But what does that mean? Isn't that a just pretentious thing chefs say?"
"It's deconstructed."

So, quelle surprise, I was not heralded as a culinary genius for my Rachel Ray lasagna. And I actually preferred the other baked ziti, because I realized that what I really like about lasagna or baked ziti is the chewy, chewy noodles. Yum. My fusilli pasta tasted limp and overcooked to me. I loved the ricotta and the cumin and basil, but it was basically limp and bland, I thought.

What I'd do in the future (it is a simple and fast recipe):
-Use penne or some other thick pasta
-Use beef stock and beef crumbles
-jam-pack the thing with extras: spinach, more vegetables.
-More cheese. More cheese than you would ever think necessary.

So, my ultimately nervous thoughts on my lasagna:

TMI Time: Signs I am Pre-Menstrual

1) Yesterday, I ate an ABSURD amount of food, some provided by the undergrad conference I was attending (at which I was referred to as "Professor" -- holla!), and some made for me by a friend whose same starts with "m" and rhymes with "sin." Three helpings of chicken pot pie, my friends.

2) My digestive systems has ceased to function in any meaningful way.

3) I got weirdly emotionally over "The Rachel Zoe Project" on Bravo and then over a commercial for tourism to California (??)

Meta-food -blog stuff

Okay, being technologically deficient, I am the last person in the world who DOES NOT own a digital camera (and nope, not even a camera on my phone). This means, that these days I barely count as a blogger.

It means that I can't show you pictures of my new yogurt maker (!) and the greek yogurt it made for me.

I can, however, link you to this food blog (which doesn't really need my wee little link) and tell you that I'M EATING THE KUGEL IN THAT PICTURE RIGHT NOW. That's right, bitches. It's so meta it kills me.

I can also link you here, because the Divine Miss M is Divine.

I can also link you here, to pretty, pretty issue #5, where my story "Grillz" is published and ready to ship out.

So, that's some pictures, right?

In good news, my phone provider, Altell (which I like to affectionately refer to as the RC cola of service providers) has been bought-en out by Verizon (the Pepsi-Cola of service providers?), which MAY result in things looking up in the technology department for ol' Easy O. So we shall just have to wait with breath that is bated.

Why, in fact, sometimes you SHOULD go off on people

Arriving at my teachin' job yesterday at the insanely early hour at which this is required, I was lucky enough to grab a parking space on the street outside my building (the fact that I have an insanely early class is the only reason this is possible and even then it is tricky).

As I parked, I sat in my car for an extra minute (don't know -- probably staring into space [see: hour, insane earliness of] ). I noticed another -- large -- car pulling in behind me. Wanting to make sure I allowed the car enough room, I pulled up respectably close to the car parked in front of me. As space is at a premium, I wanted to make sure we all took advantage of it. I was surprised and annoyed to see the car in back of me park while leaving a solid four/five feet of room between my car and their's. Getting out, I couldn't help but feel annoyed (assisted, no doubt, by hour, insane earliness of). At least one more, maybe two more, cars could have parked along that stretch; now, it was maxed out. I thought about saying something, but the man was an older gentleman in a suit and for all I knew he could, like, actually be my Dean or another instructor in my department or something. Plus, I hate those people who are so obsessed with efficiency that they feel entitled to yell at others if someone else doesn't conform to their exact idea of the best way to do things. I myself am not the world's best parker or driver, and I know I piss people off without meaning to all the time. Glass driving, don't throw verbal stones, etc.

As I walked towards work, I noticed the man meet up with another man and they each started routing through a cardboard box. As I walked past them, one man offered me a New Testament in small, vomit-green color. I said "no" instinctively and then muttered an incoherent "and tell your friend to...park...mutter....room..." and kept walking.

As I took a few small steps further, comprehension started to dawn. Okay, not only were these men NOT in fact employees, students, parents of students, etc., they were FUCKING PROSELYTIZERS. And A FUCKING PROSELYTIZER TOOK UP NOT ONE, BUT TWO, PREMIUM PARKING SPOTS AT THE PLACE WHERE I WORK.

And as I walked, I got madder and madder. And more mad and more mad. And I decided, fuck it. See hour, insane earliness of. And so I walked back. I tripped on my heels a bit as I walked over, and the men saw me. But luckily this was walking to them, not walking away.

"Hi," I said to them. "Me again. Are you affiliated with the university?"

Just wanted to check that they weren't, you know, part of a student faith group or something, which would be a bit different.

The man didn't answer the question (evasive, changing the subject -- confirmation of my suspicions), saying, "We're from the Gideon society."

Okay, hotels, Gideon bibles, got it, I think.

"See your car over there?" I say. "See how's it four feet behind MY car, the purplish/bluish one? You're left all the space and now no one else can park there. That's a spot that students or people who actually work here could use."

The man gets all cutesy and condescending to me. "Well you see," he says, "little lady" unsaid but hanging in the air, "if I'd parked as close as YOU parked to the car in front of YOU then you wouldn't have been able to get out."

"I could get out just fine!" I say, for a moment not quite understanding him.

"Have a nice day," he says, once again employing the "let's condescendingly change the subject and not actually address the subject" tactic.

I stalk away.

I wish I'd ended the exchange in a more dignified way, explaining that no one who isn't disabled/disturbed would have trouble backing out of a space with a QUARTER of the space he had "politely" left me. And that it's actually polite to park a little tightly and make sure the maximum amount of people can use an area where demand is really, really high. ESPECIALLY IF YOU DON'T WORK THERE. AND ARE THERE ESPECIALLY TO SPREAD RELIGIOUS BELIEFS ON A CAMPUS THAT IS PUBLICLY FUNDED.

What I really wish I'd said was this:

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I annoying you? Is it annoying when someone comes up to you while you're trying to do something else and forces their opinion on you? Yeah. Think about that."

Update-y kins

For this week and this week only, I'm being featured on mnartists! Thought I'd link, even if it's brief, and also to acknowledge that they are awesome and not only is my name now correct, there's also this nice stuff about me up.

I also found out that in November I'm to be published here, which makes me apoplectic with joy.