Archive | April, 2012

Spring

25 Apr

run to the lake

sleeping bags nest next to the spangled underpass walls

I should really buy some special shoes

next to the Jewel the sidewalk says “everything is made new”

pass under a tree turned out and I hear a steady voice

a dot-scoll-sign reads behind my eyes

“you’re blossoming”

 

At the time, I was feeling pretty high on life and possibilities.  I was about to jump off some cliffs – nothing major in the big picture, but I made some moves toward things I’m interested in.  I reached for some things I’ve never reached for before.    I was hopeful, and that feeling always gives life a special shine.

So next, a thing that hasn’t happened for a long time happened – my luck came in.  I felt so happy –bursting , even.   I felt a little proud of myself.  Not big-deal stuff, but new stuff.  Challenging stuff.  Exciting stuff.

Now here I am.  Lucky, but not totally prepared.  I have to show up and learn how to do some things that, as it turns out, are hard for me.   There are new people who don’t seem to appreciate my special brand of awkwardness and quietness – my trying too hard (and I still don’t understand how that’s even a thing).

I liked the flower part.  All by myself with a brand-new idea.  I liked the liminal space – the hopeful shine as I ran for the third day in a row.  But I ran under that tree yesterday – in the new shoes I got, – now a couple weeks in and still running – and the flowers were gone.  Now it’s just gnarly little buds trying to make fruit, I guess.  I can’t really tell.   And they just keep being kind-of ugly, and small, and the same.  The gnarly nubs are just relentlessly there – being – doing something – becoming – but not in a satisfying growth-chart sort of way.  They just keep showing up.  Not even showing up because they never leave.  They’re just there.  God.  This is taking forever.

What’s that called again?  Oh right, spring.  I forget what spring feels like every time.

Alert! Latte!

19 Apr

A very specific group of potential readers may recollect a joke that this title is based on.  Namely, “ALERT!  WAFFLE!” – a phrase that was coined on a think/dance collective tour of the midwest and refers to, what else, waffles.  We would (for some reason) announce this boldly when the waffle machine would ding in the lobby of the hotel while we breakfasted.  I’m sure we were a real treat to fellow hotel patrons.

Anyway, what I’m here to tell you might not change your life the way it’s changed mine, but I think it’s still worth sharing:  I have discovered a way to make a perfect latte at home.

In the May issue of Martha Stewart Living, there is an article about a day in the life of food editor, Lucinda Scala Quinn that reads like a strange series of facebook updates.  I particularly cottoned to a tidbit I read about Ms. Quinn making herself a cappuccino in her kitchen each morning.  I assumed that since she’s probably very fancy, she probably has an even fancier machine to achieve this am cap, but NO!  A small seed of hope began to unfurl in my latte-loving heart.

Upon further reading, I discovered that she brews espresso on the stove and then (this is the awesome part so get ready) she heats some milk in a cup and, using a whisk between her palms and moving her hands back and forth to swiftly turn it, she froths the milk.  I suspected that, like most helpful tips in MSL, this would probably completely backfire in my apparently success-averse hands.

But the seed of hope remained and for several days, I pondered these things in my heart.  I was so intrigued by the potential to enjoy my all-time favorite treat at a fraction of the cost and with no fancy equipment, that I tried it.  While this usually results in my cursing Martha Stewart and her awful enticement of my hope and subsequent despair, this time was different.  Liz: 1, Martha: not this time, jerkwithexcellenttaste!

I first tried the Quinn Method (a genius deserves her due) a few days ago with whole milk.  That did not work.  The milk did not really foam nicely.  But then, I remembered from my barista days that it was always easier to make a good stiff foam with skim milk, even when I was using the industrial steam wand.  When I applied my whisk with vigor to a microwaved cup of skim milk, magic began!  Foam!  Legit foam began to multiply in the cup!  I seriously cannot remember the last time I was so excited.  I completely understand if you need to get up and try this without delay.  The rest of this post isn’t as good as your homemade latte will be, so go with my blessing!

Anyway, upon having this ecstatic success, I brewed some espresso using my aero press, and poured the milk and foam on top.  It was a revelation of such magnitude that among my first thoughts was that I should share this with the good people at TCoWHRN.  I hope you enjoy!

P.S. another hot tip – if you don’t have a thing that makes espresso, you can easily just use brewed coffee and have yourself a steaming mug (or bowl in the french style) of cafe au lait.

It’s (almost the) Weekend Update! With Liz Joynt Sandberg!

13 Apr

Dream on, lady.

So anyway, here’s what’s been keeping me from posting around here lately:

I went on my first improvisation audition!  It was, in a word, terrifying.  Now, you need to keep in mind that I have absolutely no training whatsoever in comedy improvisation.  I’m in the writing program at Second City, and have never taken a performance class.  Ever.  I do a fair amount of performing and improvising for my art shenanigans, but I very rarely talk during these doings.  Improv comedy is mostly talking (says the lady who doesn’t really know what improv comedy is).  What possessed me?  It’s hard to say.  But I stared at an audition posted by a member of a company I swoon for (Improvised Shakespeare at iO – thou should dost get thee there at thy earliest convenience – thank me later)  for weeks and finally decided “screw it, I’m going to find out what this is all about.”  I applied, they said “uh, ok we guess…” And you know what?  It was pretty fun!  Or at least it was after I stopped feeling like I needed to explode diarrhea, and throw up and re-apply chapstick and change my outfit and get a new face.  I think the secret to succeeding in this endeavor is that I am completely fearless about looking dumb.  I’m a 6-foot-tall dancer, you know?  I spend a lot of my time looking ridiculous.  I didn’t get that job, but…

I DID get cast in a Second City Training Center show!  What the?!  Riding the high of my fearlessness, when I got an email about an audition for a show my writing teacher is directing I said “heck yes!  I’ll sign up for this!  Another chance to learn!”  A pal took some new headshots for me on the weekend, I printed ’em out along with what I will optimistically call a James-Franco-esque resume, and off I went, to goof around in a room full of other aspiring goofs.  We introduced ourselves, did some improvised two-person scenes (inspired by a one-word directive – mine was “dragon!”), read a script, did some more improvisation, and sang a little ditty of our choice (I sang the intro to Someone to Watch Over Me.  I may be an idiot, but I am classy, goddamnit!).  What I really want to know is if the kid who sang Wu-tang Clan was also cast. The next day, I was waiting for a redline train downtown with Ida after seeing a friend dance at the library.  There was a man singing Gershwin standards so loud and beautiful I thought my heart would explode when I heard snatches of a voicemail:  “offer… part… our show… you… great… yes… call me back.”   I felt like a million bucks.  I know it’s not really a big deal, but it’s kind-of huge to me.  The show runs for 5 weeks in one of the small theaters at The Second City in June and July.  My mom is so proud.

What else… keeping a 2-and-a-half year old alive.  Which, if you’ve never had the pleasure, is no fucking joke.  Ida is at turns delightful and kind, and at other times does things like (true story) comes into the kitchen while I’m cooking at the stove, punches me in the butthole as hard as she can and exclaims “POW!  There’s a hole right there” and runs away.   She’s got several imaginary friends (e-ah and grandfather – whose grandfather is still unclear), and a job at a store called Be-Toe that sells lollipops and meatballs and has, from what I can gather, limited hours.  She has developed an alter-ego, “Rope-ie” who is to blame for any misbehavior.  He/she looks exactly like Ida, so you can understand our confusion at times.  She was given a baby Rapunzel complete with flowing hair and a very frilly dress for her 2nd birthday and she has since named him/her (fluctuating) Frank.  I love that kid.  She makes me nuts.

In the mix has also been  some dance performing, some shows I helped curate around town, some other fun adventures with Ida, and many evenings starting into the fridge and thinking “why is there never stuff to make dinner?”