jennsylvania

Cupcake Up, Bitches

I've come to realize that I don't have a thing. 

In my regular, everyday life I've got no hook, no gimmick, nothing specific or special that makes the people who actually know me want to invite me to their house.  No one's ever, "Ooh, Jen's coming!  That means she's bringing corn dip!" or "Jen's here?  Hope she'll play piano for us again!  She has the voice of an angel." or "Jen's just back from Asia and she's got a ton of silk goodies for everyone!" 

Pretty much it's, "Oh, Jesus, Jen's here.  There goes all the Savignon Blanc.  And keep her away from the dog.  He hasn't been right since the last time when she tried to make out with him." 

Anyway, I've decided that cupcakes will be my thing.  There seems to be a big cupcake/author connection (See: Sedaris, Amy; McCandless, Sarah Grace; Bussel, Rachel Kramer) so this is a logical choice.  Besides, a really good cupcake can forgive a whole lot of bad behavior, and frankly I could use the help.

Martha Stewart, patron saint of crabby girls who dig buttercream, featured a whole passel of cupcake and frosting recipes in the February edition of her magazine.  So yesterday I went out and bought all the proper supplies - a sifter, cake flour, paper cups, buttermilk, etc.  And then I came home and got to work. 

Following her instructions to the letter, here's what I created three hours after beginning:

   

They're magnificent, aren't they?  And the taste/texture are to die for... most likely because they took five sticks of butter. 

Martha's cupcake/buttercream recipes are an excellent jumping-off point because I can't begin to get creative until I figure out the basics.  Next time I make these, I'll be using real vanilla bean and I may fool around with extracts like lemon.  Also, I'll cut the recipe because I ended up with 36 cupcakes and that's, um, kind of a lot for two people.  (Fletch did his best by woofing down five.  Bless his little heart and his distended belly.) 

I had a bit of a storage conundrum because I couldn't just wrap them in plastic because the frosting would stick, yet I couldn't just leave them sitting out on display because in addition to getting stale, they'd get licked.  (Perhaps this is not a problem with the cats in your home.  But your cats are probably not in the mood to ruin your stuff because they're super-angry at you for keeping the house so cold.  Yours probably also aren't all huddled over the heating registers like furry little homeless people.  But I digress.) 

I stuck them all in a roaster pan and covered it in Saran wrap, which seemed to work well.  As I progress, I'll get the proper storage container. 

So... huzzah!  I finally have my thing.

My thing on the internet is that I'm kind of funny yet I realize that this post was not. 

But perhaps you'll get a chuckle out of the cupcakes I made last week before having proper supplies and committing myself to making them the right way? 

"Oh, Jesus, she brought cupcakes.  Hide the dog, please."

And I Didn't Mention Spy Kids, Either

First, a word from Stacey:

Dear Friends and Fans (Frans?) of Jen -
 
I am touched, humbled, and so very very grateful for your voting for me and my little cocktail.  (and yes, Jen knows that I fully intend to give her and you all the credit if I get the trip, and that she can request I deliver Mionetini’s to her whenever she likes for the rest of her natural life!)  I have had the good fortune to meet some of you at Jen’s events, and I am always struck by what a truly fun, warm, smart group you are.  Which doesn’t really surprise me, since like attracts like, and Jen is a major source of light in my universe and I am daily glad to have her in my life, so it goes to follow that her Frans are a group I would be damn lucky to know and raise a glass with.
 
I will be waiting until the whole thing is over to post the article as promised, in part because the outcome will affect the ending which I will need to rewrite as a result of your amazing generosity. 
 
In the meantime, I wanted to make sure that I acknowledged you all…and that includes those of you who haven’t yet voted, I thank you in advance for your support.  My mom would probably prefer that I send you all individual thank you notes on decent stationary, but as I do not have your addresses, I hope you will forgive me that little bit of etiquette.  However, if you go to my website, www.staceyballis.com and send me a note via the Contact page, you will at least have your personalized e-mail asap.   
 
(and I should say, in the spirit of sportsmanship, if you scroll down the list and see a cocktail you think is tastier sounding than mine, do feel free to vote for them instead…)
 
FYI:  grains of paradise, really cool African pepper, less bite than black pepper with hints of floral and citrus notes and really yummy on salads.  You can get it here:  www.thespicehouse.com
 
Elderflower liqueur:  St. Germain  (about $28 a bottle, but it is a beautiful bottle!)
 
I send you all deep thanks, and will keep you posted!
 
Rock the Vote.
 
Biglove, 
Stacey

* * *

By the way, if you host an '80's party, talk to Stacey and she'll give you a blueprint for exactly how to do it.  For my party, she nailed the smallest details like suggesting I serve Razzles on the buffet and play movies such as Lost Boys and Labyrinth on the TVs in the background.  Fortunately, she even came early to help set up.  However, I did lose twenty minutes of valuable prep time gawping at her level of authenticity.  Observe:

 

And, yeah, that IS an original Hands Across America pin.  (Not pictured: hot pink tights and Pumas.)  She even ordered shoulder pads and baby-blue mascara online.

We were all duly awed. 

When she was leaving her house, she ran into her neighbor who before she turned around said, "Hey, where are you going all dressed up for... (long, awkward pause) the eighties?"  My sole disappointment is that she didn't respond, "Where I'm going, we don't need any roads." 

(Award yourself ten points if you got the Back to the Future reference.)

(Which she also has in her video library, along with Lost Boys and Labyrinth.)

ANYWAY, before Stacey decided to write full time she was Education Director at the Goodman Theatre.  What this means now is she gets free tickets to every opening night.  This week her date had to cancel last minute so she invited me to see the Eugene O'Neill play Desire Under the Elms starring Brian Dennehy and Carla Gugino.  I said yes with the caveat that no one would get naked on stage, unlike the last time I went out to get a little culture with her.

Technically, this time no one got naked... instead, two people stripped.  TWO!  However, they weren't wrapped in enormous sheets of dry-cleaning film, nor were they dropping plastic babies out of their dresses or wearing gas masks so the nudity made sense within the context of the show.  Also, Dennehy kept his pants on the whole time.  That was nice.

Because of Stacey's connections, we were invited to the cast party afterward, meaning I got to meet the stars.  Some of you may be aware of my level of social retardation and had I blurted, "I loved you as Big Tom Callahan!" upon meeting Dennehy, I doubt anyone would be surprised... but I didn't.  Yay, me!  Who says I no longer show personal growth on this blog? 

(I mean, other than the ex-fan who emailed me to say this yesterday.) 

(My friend Texie who's been reading my blog since 2003 was all, "Did it ever?")

I also managed not to bring up the Pauly Shore connection when I met Gugino.  Somehow mentioning Son in Law seemed wrong after she'd given the performance of a lifetime on one of the most prestigious stages in the world.  I'd count this in the win column except I kind of spent too much time grilling her on the wig she wore on stage.  Pretty much our conversation consisted of me sputtering and sweating Sauvignon Blanc, saying:

"Hey!  That wasn't your real hair.  It really looked like your real hair.  Your own hair is dark.  I almost missed saying hi to you because you look different with your real hair.  Hey, that is your real hair, right?  It's way darker than I thought.  I went dark now, too.  Not as dark as you though.  Yours is super dark.  Like, black.  Inky black.  Super black.  Tar black.  But good, you know?  I like it.  Black is the new black, ha ha!  The dark is nice, but the wig was also nice.  Didn't your hair used to be the color of your wig?  You know, you could kind of look at the play from your wig's perspective.  I mean, your 'do told a story.  First it was all tight and rolled, and then it got sort of loose and then it got all messy and then-"

At this point Stacey noticed she was making scaredy-get-this-weirdo-away-from-me-eyes so Stacey explained that we had to go.  I shook Gugino's hand and was summarily yanked away before I could lay a paw on her hair.  

Which is probably for the best.   

As we were walking to the car, I said to Stacey, "So I guess I had a fifty percent success ratio at the party.  Gugino thinks I'm bugfuck crazy - with a possible wig fetish - but I didn't embarrass myself in front of Dennehy. "

Stacey looked thoughtful and replied, "Yeah, but if this evening were baseball, you'd be batting .500.  That's an excellent statistic.  Good job!"

And that's precisely why I adore her.

Thanks again for your vote!

My Friend Stacey Needs You

Ergo, I need you.  First, the what...

Please go here and vote for your favorite cocktail which I'm strongly suggesting will be the Mionetini created by my BFF Stacey Ballis as she used elderflower liqueur and we all know that it's the most delicious substance on earth.  (Her name and cocktail are the sixth one down on the list.  One vote per valid email address, please.)

Now the why... this summer Stacey and I were both on deadline and therefore we each found a thousand different ways to procrastinate, as writers are wont to do.  Whereas I picked up the Twilight series, Stacey dodged her own work by entering recipe contests.  Six months later, her book is done and her procrastination paid off - she's now competing for a trip to New York and a chance at the $5000 grand prize, whereas I am still correcting grammatical errors spurred from spending too many late nights shouting, "Renesme is the stupidest name I ever heard!"

And the what's-in-it-for-you... after entering dozens of contests and winning nothing, Stacey wrote the funniest article I've ever read about the experience.  Part of it recounts her side of the story on the day I went up to her vacation house and got into a head-on collision with an Adirondack chair.  I'm pretty sure if your votes catapult her up into the top three and she gets to go to New York, she'll put the story online.

In no way is this meant to look like a bribe, but if you guys WERE to get Stacey firmly into the number one spot, I'll put aside my seemingly never-ending editing and tell you my story about meeting Brian Dennehy and Carla Gugino on Monday. 

Did I exclaim, "I loved you in Tommy Boy!"?  

Did I shriek, "What was it like to work with Pauly Shore?"

Vote and find out.  

(And thank you!)

 

Does God Like Starbucks?

We're supposed to go to a christening this morning at what I consider to be a very un-Godly hour and our friends won't tell us where the lunch is afterwards because they know we'd ditch the church portion given the chance so I've been running around getting ready for it while also trying to pry Fletch out of bed so we're not late and it's weird that he's so tired and reticent to get up considering he normally rises FIVE hours earlier than this for this gym during the week and it's not like we went to bed super late although I did stay up to read although maybe the problem is it's really cold in here since I cranked the heat down to fifty-eight degrees because we got our second gas bill where the total was over five hundred and fifty-five dollars which I swore was a mistake until I asked the neighbors and they were all, "Yeah, that's about right" and in my haste of hot-rollering and dashing across icy cold floors in my stocking feet and "GET UP, GET UP, GET UP!"-ing I grabbed the invitation to Mapquest the directions only to find that we misread the invitation and don't need to be anywhere until 11:00.

So my question is this -  to those of you who've seen the inside of a church in the last decade, can I bring coffee?

UPDATE:  This was definitely a no-coffee kind of church.  Fortunately the point was moot because Snoozy McLazyass didn't get up in time for us to stop at Starbucks. 

Also?  I've been forbidden to turn the heat down to 58 degrees ever again.

(Son of) Funny Ha-Ha

Got any plans for Friday?  Because I'm going to be here:

 

Come! 

Enjoy a whole bunch of funny people! 

Bring five dollars!  (You know, for kids.)

In the comments below, tell me what you'd want to hear me read if you were to come, enjoy, and bring five dollars.  What are your favorites?  The marathon convention center?  Fletch vs. the coyote?  My trip to the ladyparts doctor? 

Let me know... and I'll see you there!

P.S. Bonus points for me for working in a Coen Brothers reference.

Driving Miss Jenny

"Hello?"

"Honey, guess what?  I have a CD audiobook coming out!"

"What?"

"Pretty In Plaid - it's coming out on CD!  And I had no idea.  I only found out because a reader just emailed me to see if the other ones were available on CD, too, and I was all, 'Huh?'  So I looked it up and hot damn!  There it was!  Now people will be able to listen to me in the car!  Which reminds me of this guy I knew my freshman year of college who was from St. Louis.  He'd get in his car and drive back to Purdue with a paperback on his steering wheel, reading Robert Ludlum books whole time he was driving.  I had such a mad crush on him that when he told me I was all, 'Wow, you're such a multi-tasker' instead of saying what I was really thinking which was, 'You are the dumbest, most careless person on earth and if we ever do go out, I'M driving.'  I bet he's one of those assholes now who rides around looking at Facebook on his BlackBerry because friend requests are urgent, yo.  I mean, that is if he's still alive and didn't plow into a- "

"I'm at work.  Do you have any other pressing matters that can't wait until tonight?"

"Hey, do you think they'd have me read it?"

"Pfft, I doubt it.  They have professionals to do that sort of thing."

"Then who'd record it?"

(pause)  "Probably Morgan Freeman."

"Really?  How awesome would that be?  He'd be all, 'I am talkin' about motherfuckin' SOCKS on a motherfuckin' BOOK.'"

"That's Samuel L. Jackson."

"Oh... you're right.  Then I mean he'd be all, 'This is CNN' and 'Luke, I am your father' and-"

(snorts)  "That's James Earl Jones.  And the grownups are working.  I have to go.  Bye."  (click)

Fine.  Yuck it up now, jackass. 

We'll see who's laughing when Mr. Freeman and I win a Grammy for Best Spoken Word Album.

What WOULDN'T I Do?

What Would Jen Do?  She'd spend all afternoon yesterday giggling about your great answers!

As for today?  She'd announce a winner.

I told Eileen the honor of selecting the winning entry was up to her as it's her book that started this whole thing.  She picked the title of this post provided by Meg S. which is "What WOULDN'T I do?" because it make her laugh out loud.

However, there were so many clever entries that I've got a couple more books to award.  The other two go to Ilana S. Harten for "What Would Michael Westen do?" because I just watched a Burn Notice marathon this weekend and love him even more than Jack Bauer and also to Blu_Canary for the Roald Dahl answer because it was so unique. 

Honorable mentions (which means you get my undying admiration which is even better than a prize, yes?) go to entries on the Real Housewives, Michael Cera, Blair Warner, Christian Siriano, and Kevin Smith.

Meg S., Ilana, and Blu_Canary, please email me your addresses so I can send them.  (And ignore the auto-response.  I really do ready everything.)

Thanks to all of you!

Maybe They're What Inspired Me To Throw An '80s Party?

I received a pair of denim Capris yesterday.

They are stonewashed.

They are five sizes too small.

They are covered in butterfly appliques.

They are proof that if I can't sleep, I should have warm milk and not an Ambien with a Sauvignon Blanc chaser.

(They are getting returned.)

Going Forward, I Should Also Remember To Sit On My Hands During Interviews

Oh, look, another post.  

Apparently I actually meant it when I said I'd post more frequently.  Hmm.  How 'bout that?

Anyway, I just got a couple of pieces of video forwarded to me and thought you might enjoy them.

First up, a few quick questions on writing process with my friend Jolene.  (Be warned - there's a single stringy piece of bang swimming around the ocean of my forehead.  Look away or else it will make you crazy.)  (Coincidentally, this is the video that made me break up with my salon.)  (Really, should I have had shapelessness and visible roots like this after two weeks?)  (And I think that's enough parenthetical caveats for now.)

 

Next up, a longer piece that's also on The Huffington Post.  This is a segment for The Interview Show with the very funny Mark Bazer that I did back in December.  The interview was really fun, but I can't help but notice the effect that three months of deadlines and a sinking house and moving and not seeing Barbie and having Christmas cookies for dinner have impacted me.  The good news is I'm not mad at myself.  Instead, I'm super-motivated to get my ass back on the treadmill for the next four to six hours/days/weeks.  (I don't care about the numbers on the scale, but I do miss my strongs.)

So, the Lycra is on, the sneakers are tied, and the next time you see me America, I'll be... sporting a better haircut.

Not Selling Out - GIVING OUT

I almost wrote "Not Selling Out - PUTTING OUT" as the title of this post because it made me giggle seeing how I'm twelve. 

However, I'm not technically putting anything out and instead am giving out copies of my friend Eileen Cook's new book What Would Emma Do?  

Eileen's the author of Unpredictable (which we all read and loved, yes?) and What Would Emma Do? is her first YA novel. 

From Amazon.com's description:

While juggling friendship issues (her best friend isn't speaking to her), a love triangle-turned-square (okay, maybe she shouldn't have kissed her best friend's boyfriend...but it was totally an accident!...sort of), and escalating mayhem in her small religious town (uh-oh...what would Jesus do?), Emma realizes she has to stop trying to please everyone around her and figure out what she wants for herself. It's time to start asking, "What would Emma do?"

I just got my copy and haven't read it yet, but I loved her first book and am totally on board with this one if for no reason other than how liberally parentheses have been used in the description. 

Now maybe the YA genre won't appeal to all of you, but I'm betting it will to those with daughters or those who lost more than one night's sleep worrying about the whole Bella/Edward/Jacob conundrum.  (Y'all know who you are.)  (And I share your shame.)

To win your copy sent personally by me, simply post your favorite take on the phrase of What Would Jesus Do, e.g. What Would Tyler Durden Do or What Would Jack Bauer Do.  I'm going to pick one winner from Jennsylvania.com and one from MySpace. 

Good luck!  You have until noon tomorrow to hit me with your best shot.  (So fire away.)

P.S. Hey, Sally, since it seems to be super important to you, please note I paid for these books myself and am receiving nothing in return save for good karma and a big hug from Eileen next time I see her.  (Suck on that, yes?)

And Now A Word From Our Sponsor

I have to break a promise to you guys.

However, I'm going to replace it with a newer, shinier, better promise, thus I hope you'll forgive me.

2009 is the year I go back on my word to remain sponsor-free, which means I'm in the process of adding advertising to my website. 

I know.

I usually try to give you guys an idea of the thought processes behind the decisions you don't necessarily dig (e.g. the new cover/hardback format, not touring in your city, my unwavering support of the Second Amendment) so I want to explain how this came about so everyone's cool with it.

Fletch took some vacation time when we moved in November.  One day while he was working on unpacking the kitchen, he noticed I was sitting on the couch not helping.  I told him I was busy working, so he wandered over behind me to see what I was doing.

I could practically hear his eyes rolling as he scanned the laptop screen.  "Doesn't look like you're working.  It LOOKS like you're watching videos of people taking it in the nuts on the fail blog," he said.

I was ready for this argument.  "Listen, part of my job is to understand pop culture references, so, really, looking at popular videos of people taking it in the nuts is part of my market research.  Same goes for any show I watch concerning pampered housewives or Bret Michaels.  Oh, wait - brainstorm!"  I snapped my fingers.  "What if there were a show where all the Real Housewives lived in the same mansion and tried to win Bret Michael's heart?  Ohmigod, GENIUS.  Which proves that what I'm doing right now is totally work."  Then I glowered, daring him to find fault with my bulletproof logic.

He surprised me by holding his hands in supplication.  "Hey, I'm not mad at you.  I'm just saying that if this is your job," he gestured at the video of a breakdancer kicking a wayward toddler, "I want in on it."

As we bounced around the idea of Fletch becoming more involved in the micro rather than just the macro, we had a long (boring) talk about specifics on the business of being an author.  There's so much more (boring) stuff involved than just writing and I'm delighted Fletch wants to take some of the (boring) onus off me.  (Sidenote to my agent and everyone at my publishing house: Fletch requested you address him as Colonel Tom going forward.) 

When we touched on the subject of making money from blogging, I said I don't consider blogging a business; I consider it fun, thus why would I crap it all up with advertising and turn it into a job? 

Fletch asked if I would generate any revenue if I accepted ads which, duh, yes.  Then I gave him my whole rationale about why I hate sites that are so obviously ad-driven and full of paid placements.  (Like, seriously?  NO ONE enjoys grape juice that much and if GM cars kicked as much ass as you claim, would they really need a bailout?)  Anyway, then he countered by asking if bringing in a little extra revenue would allow me to reinvest in our business by outsourcing the stuff that keeps me from writing, such as laundering Fletch's sweaty gym drawers.

And... damn if that didn't make perfect sense.   

So we talked to my webhost and we've figured out how to get started.  We've got a little programming and redesign to do, so you won't see any changes here for a few weeks.  But they are coming.

The upside is now that I'm going to have ads, I'll feel obligated to post more frequently.  No more three weeks off because I'm eating cookies and watching Divorce Court. 

I still hate the idea of making my site ugly with ads, so we agreed to a few compromises.  First, if the ads are awful or obtrusive or slow things down too much, I maintain sole discretion on pulling the plug. 

Second, I'll only allow ads for stuff I like or could see myself using.  (Acai berry diet and Rachael Ray's dog food?  SCREW YOU.) 

Last, Fletch agreed that he'll not only start reading this website, but he'll actually occasionally post his side of the story. 

(Is anyone else afraid?)

To show you I'm serious about writing more, I'm going to post again shortly soliciting advice on how to throw the perfect '80's party AND I'm going to be giving away a few copies of my friend Eileen Cook's new book What Would Emma Do? 

I'll put contest info up in the morning... or as soon as I finish watching my TiVoed episode of the Rock of Love Bus.

See? 

Nothing's going to be different around here... except maybe the hands that fold Fletch's underpants.