Sunday, May 25, 2008

Betty Crocker had no hand in this.

As of late, my inner Duncan Hines has been on the loose. A muchacho of mine had a birthday today and I thought, cupcakes would make this day perfect. But, I did have a prerequisite: they could not be bastardized by the dough boy. I spent most of the afternoon searching the interwebs for the magical formula. The one that won my heart was a simple chocolate cupcake with butter cream frosting. I read and re-read the recipe, then decided that I could make this fantasy become a reality.
I left my apartment armed with a list and a whole lotta hope. I stalked the aisles at Ralphs like a gerbil in a cheese factory looking for my components. When I came across the baking shelves, I admittedly lost steam. Grazing the box mixes, my mind unfurled into a realization: why go to all the trouble of mixing ingredients and hoping against all hope that it may or may not taste good when all I gotta do is get eggs, oil and some water? The temptation was overwhelming, especially since the loss of steam was becoming apparent. Biting my lip, I reach for the cocoa powder that will (hopefully) blow minds while imbibing my mystical baked goods.
When I arrived home; my laboratory started coming together. Benny Goodman on the turn table, and all the tools of the trade: 2 mixing bowls, spatula, cupcake tin with foil cups for said comestibles; blender and an apron to catch all the delicious mistakes.
I was surprised how good the result was: I almost purchased some store mades just so I could have a control to compare my specimen to. After several minutes of self-congratulatory goodness, and pure awe that I didn't completely screw it up, my hips busted out a lil' ditty to celebrate my latest conquest.

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Inanimate objects have their needs too.

New trip idea...but not really.

A while back I posted a trip idea for the Trans-Siberian/Manchurian Express. The excursion was inspired by a night with Henry Rollins I had back in 2005 at his spoken word show. Mr. Rollins, being the articulate raconteur that he is, enticed me into possibly doing the same journey. His descriptions of surly babushkas, mystery meat, in climate weather and Genghis khan/nomad-type characters ignited the travel bug that had mysteriously dwindled over the past months. Shortly after, an intense inter web search was on, and I completely tuned out of my job. Not like anyone noticed; master control is sort of lenient like that.

After a not so long search, I came up with some mildly irritating discoveries with all points towards mother Russia:

1. You need to be officially invited in.

2. You have FOUR NIGHTS valid on your transit visa, which allows for one or two nights in Moscow, an overnight train and two or one night(s) in St. Petersburg respectively, but you must be across the border before midnight on the final day of your visa. Basically, you need to be the hell out of there or you can expect a mighty huge fine.

It adds that you're better off booking your trip with a tour company or the like based on the fact that if your ass doesn't speak the Ruskie you might end up in Chechnya. And the tour company will at least procure your visas and arrange everything for you. And to be honest, I'm not all that interested in war zones. Even though I know you pegged me as that kind of gal; I will have to disapoint on this one.

Things I miss about Minneapolis.

1. My family.
2. Autumn
3. My lovely and brilliant friends.
4. Spyhouse
5. Pizza Luce
6. Hard Times
7. South Minneapolis
8. brownstone buildings
9. foxfire...which I know hasn't been around in ages, but I was thinking about it the other day.
10. making movies with friends

There's always more to add, but at this moment I was missing those.