NaBloPoMo, Day 4

Muffins are often misunderstood. For a long time, I misunderstood them, but I'd now like to think I understand them properly. Mainly, I know that they are not cupcakes. They don't have to be as sweet as cupcakes, and they shouldn't be as tender as cupcakes. They don't have to be as uniform in texture as cupcakes. They don't have to be healthy, but it's not bad for them to have some nutrition.

A muffin should have a hearty crumb. Ideally, it would have a crispy-crackly top or outer layer with a softer, but still chewy, interior. You should be able to taste what kind of flour you use. Butter or oil should make a difference.

Yes, I know, it sounds like some weirdo health freak baker talking, but it's true. When you go for a muffin, you at least want to think you're eating something semi-nutritious, whether you realize it or not. Peaches are nice, but they're even better when you throw a little ginger in there. Rye flour does something nice to pumpkin and banana. I put rosemary and fig butter in my oatmeal the other day, and those flavors would make a nice muffin.

Everything you've been doing with your muffins is great. Make muffins you like. But just know that if I'm your muffin man, you'll be getting something faintly sweet, hearty, unassuming. All great qualities, in muffins and in people.

NaBloPoMo, Day 3

And I accomplished all my goals. I slept, I practiced, I baked. It was lovely. I hope to do it again soon. Also, crafts.

But I can't just leave a whole post at that. Instead, here are a few thoughts on the little show I'm working on:

• There is essentially no plot. Blame: Frances Hodgson Burnett
• Instead, we look at pretty costumes and exciting people and see how both change over the course of two hours.
• We're about as loyal to the original script as I am to this blog when it's not November.
• Ditto for the score.
• I have the job of handing an actor a stick from the pit in the middle of "Final Storm." Tonight, I realized during the prologue that the stick was missing. I whisper to our music director. He texts the stage manager. The stage manager tells the director, who finds his way backstage to tell one of the cast members, who then mimes to me from the other side of the stage that she will be bringing the stick over, and would I like to receive it over the top of my stand or under my keyboard. With great purpose, she comes onstage for her scene change, slides the stick under the keyboard, and moves the panel she was originally slated to move. A well-oiled machine. 
• I have issues with the show as a piece (namely, with the music; blame: Lucy Simon), but I am quite fond of the people in our production.

Maybe more later, maybe not. Go change those clocks - it'll be the best thing that happens to you while you're sleeping.

NaBloPoMo, Day 2

Much has been accomplished today: I had a conducting evaluation, I helped paint the floor of the theater black, I stirred some polyurethane, I got back a midterm that was labeled with a shockingly high mark, the official opening night of Secret Garden happened (and we sold out the run of the show today), and I spread my little social butterfly wings and ended up at TGIFriday's (heaven help us all) with a whole slew of theatrical people well past midnight. And now I'm preparing myself for a nice two-and-a-half hour sleep before doing a little Fischer 3 pranktime.

It's the days like these when exhaustion doesn't quite register because everything's been so fast and fun that you forget you're supposed to be tired. You forget that you haven't been in the room with your roommate for about a week when one of you wasn't sleeping. And come the end of tomorrow night's show, I'll remind myself of all this, and we'll do some catching up. I'll get reacquainted with my bed, but also with the practice rooms, and maybe even the kitchen. Maybe? Maybe. But I guess I'll keep you posted on all that.

NaBloPoMo?

Welcome to November. Chances are really good I'll fail miserably at this, given how hectic this month promises to be, but it's worth a shot, I think. And because I'm in the time of day where focusing isn't quite practical, we're going with the bullets:

• This post doesn't have to be anything special because it's just November 1. I totally deserve an introduction post.
• Tonight marks the first of eight performances of The Secret Garden with an audience. (I'm in ze pit.) It's kind of exciting.
• Because I don't always get a minute to sit down at the computer (to do things like whip out a little blog post) until well into the night-time hours, posts in the wee hours of the morning definitely count for the day before. Don't even try to tell me they don't.
• There are two girls on my floor who qualify in my book as absolutely insane, and they're hilarious for it. They make music videos every evening, and my friend and I popped into one the other night. Just a day in the life.
• While there's little chance I'll actually post every day in November, there's even less of a chance these posts will be substantial, clever, entertaining, or otherwise worth your time. Sorry about that, but it's just the way it is.

Anticipation

I'm writing from a place I've never written from before. I'm not even speaking metaphorically. I mean that my friend Abby and I are hiding out in the bathroom of two girls on my floor. Note that it's 1 a.m., and they're currently on their way back from a movie. We will be surprising them. It'll be a great time. And we're so excited. We also did a mini photo shoot while we waited.

Plans:

• We will wait until we hear laughter. (We left them a cute set of notes on their marker board, so we expect a response as our alert signal.)
• We will wait until we see the light turn on in the room.
• We will quietly pack up our computers and get ready.
• We will welcome them to their own room with much volume and fanfare.
• If we miss our opportunity, we will wait in the bathroom until they come in. Just hangin'.

Moral of the story: don't leave your door open when you're not home.

Disclaimer: they love and adore us and are also far creepier than us, which is the only reason this is OK.

Because I am cruel.

Today, I made cookies. They are a wee bit lemony, and they have poppy seeds in them. I then smushed some blackberry cabernet sorbet (ooh! ahh!) in between two of them. It is delicious, and I thought you'd like to know.*

*except that it's really just because I'm evil. But we'll pretend it's in the interest of representing my life accurately on this here blog. Because I do that so faithfully.

Happy Friday.

Something I could get used to

You know, I’ve never been the type to really look forward to summer. I mean, it’s nice, but it’s always been a three-month heat wave punctuated too frequently with days when I just can’t wait for school to start back up. This summer’s been nice, though. Different. I got to shave off a nice month of the summer right from the get-go by being in London for most of May. And now, filling my days with cooking whatever strikes my fancy, learning the score to a hard piece of musical theatre, reading a couple Agatha Christie novels, and bopping around Houston to visit friends - that’s something I could get used to. I mean, already this summer I’ve gotten to make all these fun things:

• tostadas 
• peanut noodles 
• a fancy BLT, fried egg and all 
• turkey chili 
• strawberry froyo 
• peach streusel cake 
• chicken tikka masala 
• raspberry scones 
• whole wheat chocolate chip cookies 
• jazzed-up apricot goat cheese prosciutto paninis 
• a “corn chowder” salad 
• gingerbread cookies 
• biscuits! 
• blackberry apricot pie 
• pork tomato ravioli
• honey-yogurt tart with blackberries and raspberries 
• barbecue sauce 
• pulled barbecued chicken sandwiches with that barbecue sauce 
• strawberry conserve 
• tomato jam

pie!

look how cute!

And there’s plenty more where that came from. All I’m saying is, I think I might finally get what all the fuss about summer is about. It’s about time.