for thanksgiving, i've been given the task of making cranberries (from seed stage) and dessert. the cranberries are easy- i've got 16 oz. washed and frozen, just itching to break out of their skin and socialize with some sugar and mandarin orange zest. dessert is going to be bread pudding, dulce de leche bread pudding. i made one sometime last year, and todd scarfed it up pretty quickly. that's a good sign, right? so i went searching for dulce de leche (pre-made is so much easier), but came up empty. yesterday, i called 5 different grocery stores, finally come up with a big dingdingding when i called rainbow (a worker-owned cooperative...). after work, i trekked over to rainbow, avoided the baked goods at all cost (although they don't carry brother juniper's wild rice and onion bread anymore, so the carb aisle isn't as tempting), and stared straight at the dulce de leche section. except there was nothing there. except a recipe on how to make it from a can of condensed milk at home. i found the girl i had spoken to not 2 hours earlier, and she was very apologetic, even allowing me to take the recipe (laminated and highlighted for my cooking ease) home with me. i may scavenge the mission tomorrow, but in case i come up empty, i have a back-up. so thursday, as everyone else is cooking, roasting, or smoking something of the unturkey (or ununtukey) variety, i most likely will be staring at a can of condensed milk in a vat of bubbling water for 3 hours, and knowing my luck, the can will burst and our recently cleaned and spotless kitchen (thanks to verde) will be covered in caramel. bet it's never tasted better, though. mmm, linoleum.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, these are the fairest of them all.
yesterday a colleague decided to change an upcoming meeting from a regular infrastructure meeting into an infrastructure meeting with potluck. but not any potluck. a holiday/international potluck. and we're all supposed to bring something that represents our culture and heritage. um... culture? i grew up in south florida, which is known for its latino flair, and i can merengue and salsa, but that's about it. my family didn't identify with any specific ethnic group, and at school, we had a semi-diverse student base (nicauraguans, brazilians, peruvians, cubans, puerto ricans, colombians, argentinians, chileans, swedes, british, irish, french, spanish, japanese, chinese, indian, and canadian, to name a few), but i was more in the general white catagory.
In a meeting recently, we were talking about learning and working styles, and somehow I got back to thinking about elementary school. All the boys would go play football or tag or be all rowdy, and a bunch of us girls got together by the swing set to play, of all things, my little pony. Each of us had a pony name, and we rode around the playground in little packs, skipping and cantering and jumping. Being the organizer that I was, I made sure each girl represented a pony, but not just any pony: the actual pony names (for all I know, I carried numbered lists with me, too). And if we ran out of pony names, the girls would name the unnamed girls with the same names like cotton candy #2 and blossom #5. but I was such a control freak, I said no. I put my foot down, stomped around, and kicked the #ed out. Go back to the jungle gym! You weren’t quick enough to grab a pony name before the other girls? Too bad.
Lines Migrates Two Steps Forward, One Downward Facing Dog Back Lines Ballet
November 4, 2006
Fall Home Season
Migrations and Sky Clad
I have a secret to admit, and it’s no small one. Sure, I don’t have a secret baby girl who I’ve shuttled off to Alaska to live in the wild raised by grizzly bears. And no, I do not have a secret shrine complete with disco ball devoted to the ever-changing dance styles of Madonna. But what’s true is that I’ve lived in San Francisco for over five years, and hadn’t seen Lines Ballet in performance until this past weekend. That’s right. Yours truly was an Alonzo King newbie. Thankfully, though, I wasn’t a dance newbie. Otherwise, I’d think the evening’s theme was boyshorts (seemingly the preferred costume choice for King’s men).
The program’s highlight proved to be King’s stateside premiere of Migration: The Hierarchical Migration of Birds and Mammals, set to music by Pharoah Sanders, Miguel Frasconi, and Leslie Stuck. The nine dancers began their migration by taking flight (or perhaps hatching out of their shells) on the floor, arching their backs and gracefully flailing their limbs. In fact, there was a lot of graceful flailing throughout, but coupled with sweeping lifts, circular hip swivels, and quick parallel passé sautés, it took on a more gratifying importance, one of upward movement, forward thinking, and ascension.
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growing up in south florida, it was too hot and humid for raincoats (shorts all year-round!), so we used umbrellas. or just ran from home to car to einstein's bagels to car to smoothie king to car to home. or better yet, used the drive-thru (thank goodness for krispy kreme!). in college, rain normally symbolized cold, brrrrr-inducing weather or during the end of november through march, snow, which necessitated a heavy rain/snow/keep-me-warm-at-all-costs l.l. bean type body armor. since moving to san francisco, i've used a combination of the two with the addition of the wool beanie- it keeps my head dry in those warmer situations, which makes it a good combination with the umbrella. and in the windy downpours, it acts as a good back-up to the parka hood. i also added the snazzy rain boots for the rare yet pants-ruining muddy days (sans knee brace and crutch, of course). but now, after lots of hemming and hawing, i think it's time to graduate from the rain parka to a more adult, city-friendly raincoat. and while for years, i've been looking for the perfect raincoat, it's time to buckle down and commit. that's right, i need to face the music (ideally with lyrics by justin timberlake). my requirements are few, though:
