Comme Ca

Oh, sweet blog.

I should really be sleeping. I smell like papier maché and I have been awake since six. Sleep would be good.

But instead, el bloggo.

I've just been thinking about the sheer insanity that is the life I am currently leading. Tomorrow, I'm going to put on a fake belly, and pretend to be in the first stages of birth in front of my friends, instructors and other students.
Other people balance chemical equations and design lesson plans for grade nine social studies.

Should I feel as though this way of educating myself is self-serving? Because sometimes, I really feel that way.
I could be more optimistic and think that I'll end up sharing in some way. A book? Teaching?
Who the eff knows.

I've just finished session four of a mask workshop being done with other members of my class. This explains the aforementioned smell. It's been quite something to create a face. You're not just sculpting a nose and defining cheeks when you do this, but manufacturing an entire type of being. It's like a completely physical way of the process we do with a text. It's been amazing to see it come to life in a physical way.

This is enough for now, but I thought I might as freaking well post something on here.

And this makes me happy:

Tasty, Tasty Melodies pt. 3

This is just a quick'un.



I love, love, LOVE these guys. This is an older video, and their newest album "Sidewalks" is well worth checking out. But I love how genuine and fun they are as performers.

A local band here does a cover of this, and with their permission, I'll try and get their version. And then I'll tell you the story behind it.

This to me, is celery sticks with pepercorn ranch dressing. Maybe blue cheese. Lots of chewing, but also some boldness with it.

More to come <3

Post-Show Pancakes

For theatre students, closing parties tend to be like a huge sigh: everything gets to fly. The parties can sometimes be, unsurprisingly, dramatic. With Rent singalongs.

The last party was in November, but I've only now been able to make this post now because other school stuff has been eating up my time. Now, I'm totally unoccupied. Roommate isn't even here. So, we blog.

This last party was very close to our house, so we played host to four other cast members. In total, our little apartment was full of six people. In my - er - state, I somehow managed to put down the futon, get PJs for one person, make tea, throw Roommate into bed and go down to storage for another blanket. Why? Or more importantly, how? Who knows.

Anyway, the night was followed by a brunch at a nearby, delicious breakfast place. On other occasions, I've managed to wrangle up a batch of pancakes. They are delicious and easy. The recipe is on the side of the fridge.

I had to take it with my cellphone, so the quality of the picture leaves much to be desired. But you get the idea.

Here is the recipe

Bestest Pancakes EVAAAR

1 1/3 cups flour
3 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons sugar
1 egg
1 1/4 cups milk
3 tablespoons melted butter or oil
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
(generous) pinch ground cinnamon

Combine all dry ingredients.
In a separate bowl, beat egg; add milk. Add vanilla.
Make a well in dry ingredients, and add the liquid.
Stir just until combined. Lumpy is good.
Cook in a greased or nonstick skillet.
Serve with syrup, fresh fruit, applesauce, whatever.

No-nonsense, hangover-friendly morning noms.

Turn it to Y'all

Hello tasty little Internet noms,

I've been taking a look at where you're browsing from, and some of you have even e-mailed me about my recipes, which is wonderful!

I was wondering if you would at all like to tell me some things that YOU have been making/eating/feeling lately.

I will come on very soon with some more food and an update as to how the last show wrapped up, so stay tuned for that. In the meantime, I'd like to hear from you!

♥G

In Breaking News . . .

It snowed! And here, that means a lot of people react pretty strongly. Mostly complaints about how things shut down, and then how this city can't react properly, and then irritation from born-and-raised toward that remark . . .

The only real problem I have with it all is that local news can pretty much hang up their journalism hats for the day.
"It snowed, Bob."
"What?"
"Yes, it did. All we have to do now is dig up some historical snowfall data, get some footage of people sledding, and talk about how the old people want to help the birds survive"
"God, I love snow."

Seriously. That was the 'news'.

Anyhoo, cold days are so good for home-made bread. I really wanted that smell in the house, so I took to the lazy student way out. Roommate had some people over who left some crappy American beer (sorry, I'm not your best critic, but this stuff tasted like bad apple juice) in our fridge, so I used that to make beer bread. Which is vegan as well!

I used a recipe from a book, so I wouldn't feel right posting it on here. But here is a link to one that is similar from Farmgirl Fare (and kudos on the great blog!).

Clicky-wicky here for the noms 

She adds cheddar and dill, but mine was plain. And I used baking soda and it turned out fine. Dense, but fine.

The best part is: this bread can be made with flat beer, shitty grocery store home brand beer ... it's not picky.

That's all for now. See ya soon!

Wanna Go Out With Me?

I know the title of this post seems a direct contradiction to the last one. Not so, oh sweet morsels of the Interwebs. Not so.

There is a difference between consentual and mutually pleasurable interaction between people and just all-out objectification. But I feel like I should explain that post seperately. And I will. So, keep looking.

But in an attempt to avoid doing homework for just a little longer, I will post here a few ideas I have for fun, inexpensive and often satirical date ideas. These work between friends, or if you have a sweetheart. They're just fun ways for a dynamic twosome of any kind to spend an evening.

1. The Archie Comics Date

Wardrobe: Poodle skirts, letterman jackets, white t-shirts, penny loafers, horn-rimmed glasses.

Procedure:

Person one picks up person two in their car. If possible, shake hands with parents.

Go to drive in. Share one milkshake with two straws.

Catch a cute romantic comedy in the theatres. Both enjoy it without irony.

Person one takes person two home before curfew is up. Kiss optional.

2. The Worst Date Ever

Wardrobe: jeans, hoodies. Underwear not required.

Procedure:

Meet at corner store. Get slushies. Sit down on the curb outside the store until you finish them.

Go to the video rental place and take out the worst movie for a date ever. Suggestions are: Hot Tub Time Machine, Superman IV, It, and Harold and Kumar go to White Castle.

Swing by McDonalds, grab some nasty food.

Go home and watch the movie while eating nasty food. Coitus is proposed by asking, "Wanna doink?"

NOTE: This date should only happen between people who actually really like each other and are doing it for funsies.

3. The Closet Classy Date

Wardrobe: That old grad dress or suit you haven't worn since, well, grad. One or both parties gets all made up as well.

Set up a picnic blanket and some candles in the bedroom, on the floor.

Cook (or order in if you're kitchenphobic) a really schmanzy dinner. Get pretentious and ingredient-snobby about it.

Serve and eat it in your bedroom picnicing spot. Gaze at each other lovingly in the candlelight.

I am not yours

I am not your pretty place to be, to see, even to understand,
Because seriously, I am nowhere to be.
Look at me!

The ears, the nose, eyes, lips ripped from bites and cheekbones displaying a past that isn't mine
What was outside of the suitcase on the way from Ukraine, Poland
England, France.
This face is constructed. I see you cut and paste, put my head on someone else's body,
put my face on your pillow.
Put my clothes on the seat of your car.
I see you!

I am not your little thing to hold,
Not precious, don't polish me.
I bite.
I wear the skirt, the hat, the stockings and the lace because I want to know how I'll feel in them.
And let's be honest, because at some point, it looked great in Vogue.

I am not your doll to poke at,
so, don't brush my hair, change my clothes, twist my head away from my body.
Don't tell me what you want me to be. Because I'll only make you unhappy.
Don't tell me I'm too short, too pale, too fat, too muscle, too bone, too woman, too smart, too funny, too quiet, too much or not enough.
Who are you?

I am not your piece of art.
I wear the warpaint of my own tribe, my mother's and grandmother's,
of my little sister and my girlfriends, of my own sense.
If I put too much eyeliner on, I'm not telling you to touch me.
I am not telling you to buy me something, to call me a new name, to guess what colour underwear I'm wearing, and I'm not asking you to parcel me up and take me home.
I'm just saying I like to wear eyeliner.

I am not yours.
I am who I give to.
I am who I take from.

You're just like me: cut and paste, pan up, pan down,
close up on the one in the middle who happens to be staring.
You're the heaviness I get every day, you're the world that is so real it hurts, and the world I hurt myself with.
You're not one man.
You're not one woman, not just one person.

What I know is that I am not yours.