Things (I Did In February) That I Love

Right, so I'm finally getting around to my February-in-review, only 4 days late. February's a great month: it's short (even when it's been extended, as it was this year), there's still pretty good weather in Texas, and it's Black History Month, which means that I'm more likely to find a James Baldwin display at Barnes and Noble. My February was pretty jam-packed with both change and fun: I moved offices, bought a car, and had some great nights out with my Houston friends.

I started off the month participating in Meredith and Matt's TV Marathon Extravaganza. Along with Mandy and Bill, we each picked three hours of one tv show to watch, and came up with food and drink which tied into what we were watching. It was a lazy, drunken, gluttonous good time! Matt and I hosted our shows on Friday night. Matt decided to show Smallville (which basically everyone I know watches, but I don't, because the only character I like is Lex, and he's not naked enough) and made awesome Red Kryptonite drinks (raspberry lemonade with a healthy splash of vodka) and the best chicken and dumplings I've ever tasted. Those chicken and dumplings were such tasty business, I swear. After watching four episodes and following the rules of the drinking game (I won't go into them in detail, but suffice it to say that one rule is drink anytime someone says "Clark." Have you ever watched Smallville? Watch one ep and get back to me on the relative state of your liver.), we were pretty trashed, but we still had enough in us for more.

I showed The X-Files, obviously, because I will take any opportunity to push that show on an unwilling public. In this case, though, everyone was perfectly willing because Matt, Mere and Mandy are all watching the show from the beginning. It's so cute! They still think everything's going to make sense! Anyway, for my part, I served individual sweet potato pies (because we watched "Jose Chung's 'From Outer Space'") and make-your-own dessert monsters, in honor of "Post-Modern Prometheus." I had marshmallows and chocolate chips and coconut and all sorts of black-and-white edible fun. All our monsters were totally cute, too. And very tasty.

And in honor of The X-Files, Rupert, Mandy's dog, wore his bumblebee outfit. Thing I like? Dressing up dogs.



Isn't he totally cute?

On Saturday it was Mere and Mandy's turn. Meredith decided to show the first four hours of Twin Peaks, which was an excellent idea not only because we all love Twin Peaks, but because she had the most amazing food to go with it. She ordered strawberry rhubarb pie from House of Pies (probably the best place to eat in Houston. Its name says it all. IT IS A HOUSE OF PIES.) and make little sugar cookies in the shape of Douglas firs. There was a cheese log in honor of the Log Lady (someday my Log is going to have something to say about this cheese log!), and swedish fish (not in the percolator.) But best of all was Jerry's Perfect Sandwich. Remember when he first makes his entrance and he's going on and on about this perfect sandwich made with brie and butter on a baguette? Well, Mere decided to try it out, and let me tell you, Jerry may be sort of a crazy playboy who makes tragic sartorial choices, but the man knows his sandwiches. That was the best sandwich I've ever had, and I'm a girl who's eaten a lot of sandwiches.

Mandy wrapped things up with a marathon of Arrested Development, which included my favorite ep of the series, "Pier Pressure." And that's why you don't teach your kids lessons! She made Carl Weathers' Stew (I love stew) and we had Unlimited Juice and Mandy made little chocolate conversation hearts that spelled out "MAYBE TONIGHT." All in all, it was the best way to spend a weekend - vegging out, eating great food, getting drunk and watching some of my favorite television shows. And Smallville.

Then that next day, we all met for brunch at Hobbit Cafe. I love Hobbit Cafe - it's quaint and charming, and they give you enough food to feed an orc. We all looked super swank and uptown, see?



There's Matt, doing his best suave hipster impression. He's really good at it!



There's Mere, looking dreamy and hip.



And of course Mandy and m'elle got on like hotcakes, being as they both posess approximately the same level of maturity.

Speaking of the offspring, she's started showing an interest in cooking. So I tricked her out with an apron and hat. Doesn't she look professional?



So far she can cook grilled cheese and green beans with shallots and mushrooms. And she can make coffee, which I actually can't (I don't drink it so I never bothered to learn how to make it. I barely function as an adult, let me assure you), so I think soon the student shall become the master.

But I'm not ready to be stripped of my title of domestic diva just yet. People who work with me have a lot of hardships, the main one being that I'm a cranky bastard 98% of the time, so I try to make it up to them on any holiday occassion. This year for Valentine's Day I made little gift tins - red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting and candied flowers, chocolate-dipped pink ribbon shortcake cookies, and of course the traditional gift of seasonal Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Nothing says "I love you" like peanut butter and chocolate wrapped in pink foil.

Don't they look cheerful and fun?



They were delicious, too, if I must say. Man, I wish I worked with me.

The rest of February sped right on by, filled with a lot of overtime work and too much shopping at Target. And then, last week, tons of great things happened! I got a raise! I bought a car! I went to Warrens!

That last bit, at least, has photographic evidence as well. See?



Sarah came to town! There she is with Mere, probably showing her a photo of Ray. Because as I once pointed out, and Sarah confirmed, the ratio of photos in which Ray appears to the ones in which he is absent is about 15 to 1. Sometimes he isn't even in the vicinity of the camera - perhaps he is several hundred miles away - but he still manages to sneak into frame. See?





It's just weird.

Matt learned a little something from Ray, because he managed to slide into this blurry shot without even noticing.



Jesus. What's so funny, me?

Sarah took over my camera at one point and Annie Liebowitzed Mere and I into being awesome photog subjects.





I mean, you can just SEE the emotion pouring off of us. We're so EDITORIAL. Sarah is like Mr Jay, only less orange, and she totally gets us to be the fiercest we can be. Tyra will love us!

The only thing to put a slight damper on the evening was that some dude in cargo shorts totally tried to hit on my by way of lecturing me about politics. A tip for all you fellas out there: I know women are hard to talk to, or whatever, especially if they're in a group of friends, but the way NOT to make them all fluttery and weak-in-the-knees is to tell them they don't understand the welfare system because they're too young. I'm just sayin'.

And although, technically, it happened in the month of March, I must give special shout-outs to last night, when I randomly caught Emma on tv. Gah, Jeremy Northam, why are you so hot? PLEASE SCOLD ME, MR KNIGHTLEY. (In case you don't know, 90% of all heterosexual females lust after either Mr Darcy as played by Colin Firth or Mr Knightley as played by Jeremy Northam, or both. In my case, it's both. In an attempt to woo literary-minded females, many men will try to adopt either a Darcy or Knightley demeanor. This is a mistake, and will cause romantic failure nearly every time, because the simple truth of the matter is that we won't stand for anyone snubbing us at a dance, trying to ruin our sister's happiness or being kind of creepily older than us and scolding us all the time unless they look like, and have the charm of, Firth or Northam. Unfair, perhaps, but this is just the way of life, men. Don't go around telling us "badly done" unless you're prepared to back that up with aristocratic good looks, a charming accent and the tendency to fiddle a bit with your waistcoat while you struggle in vain to hide your undying love and affection for us.)

March brings us ever closer to my encroaching old age, but before that happy time, we'll be bringing this blog coverage of Austin's annual South by Southwest Music Festival. Courtney and I will be posting lots of music-related entries over the next few weeks, so if that isn't your cup of tea, try to hang in there. But we are going to do our level best to find a member of Hanson and ask what the deal is with hanson secrets, so watch out for that.

xx erin

Party Line

I was all set yesterday to write this ginourmous (TM my younger cousin Alex) blog entry about all my doings and going-ons in February, complete with photographic evidence of same, but I was rudely interrupted by the onset of a vicious migraine. Thing I don't love? Feeling like someone's jamming an ice pick into my skull, all alien bounty hunter-ish. But at any rate, that entry will come later today. But for now I thought I'd write about The Political Process As Observed by Yours, Truly.

That's right. Today's March 4, also known as Primary Day here in Texas (and Ohio, Vermont and Rhode Island, but who cares about those states? Vermont sits up there, all high and mighty with its gorgeous foliage and seasons, Ohio's just lame, and you can fit about 1200000 Rhode Islands in the city of Houston alone. I have one Rhode Island in my back yard, as a matter of fact.). And would you believe, despite being nearly 28 years old and fairly politically active for most of my life, I'd never before voted in a primary until today? It's true! It's not due to apathy or a Lenten promise to give up electronic voting booths; it's just that I'm a member of a third party and, generally, our inter-party races are usually settled by a thumb war or something. Sometimes it's a race to see which broken-down old van can get to DC first. Exciting, yes, but maybe not something that captures a nation's interest.

But this year, for reasons which will remain my own but which probably stem from being too old to get much het up about ideals anymore, I've decided to join the crowd and vote big ticket. And it's really exciting, too! Texas generally gets sort of overlooked by presidential candidates - the Republicans figure they'll carry Texas whether they come down here and campaign or not, and the Democrats figure the state will still go Republican, no matter how many times they come down here and sample our BBQ. And I guess BBQ and Shiner Boch isn't much of an inducement to presidential candidates (although it should be, obviously), because for the most part, we sort of get shafted.

But not this year! With the Democratic primary race still very much anyone's game (as long as that anyone is Clinton or Obama), all eyes are on Texas and our wacky Democratic primary process. McCain will take it for the Republicans - is Huckabee still alive, even? - but it's still neck and neck for the Dems. If Clinton manages to take Ohio (which she's favored to) AND Texas, she's back in the game and will have a slight lead over Obama. If she loses them both, she's probably out, and if they split down the middle, then this primary race will drag on until the summer. And as much as I like both Obama and Clinton (I do, actually, for varying reasons both politically and personally), and enjoy the drama of it all, I need it to be over already. I compared it to the World Series earlier today - McCain is the Yankees, a bit bloated and still riding on the buzz of yesteryear's heydey, and he's already won the ALCS in four games. He's kicking back and watching game tape while Clinton (the Mets, obvs: less accessible perhaps than other teams but her fans are hardcore) and Obama (please, he's totally the Cubs. Fan-and-celeb-favorite, getting everyone's hopes up only to dash them at the last possible moment when the foul ball bounces off a fan's glove) are still duking it out in the National League, wearing each other and everyone else out. By the time one of them manages to win 4 games out of 7, McCain will know exactly how to hit them in the pennant race.

CNN has a totally handy (and fun!) map which shows how many delegates each candidate has. You can make your predictions for the remainder of the primaries (all eyes on Guam!) and see how many more votes Obama and Clinton need to win the nomination. There should really be a pool for these sorts of things. If my Oscar picks were anything to go by, I'd rake in tons of dough.

Regardless of which unlikely presidential candidate wins the Democratic nomination, I've done my part. Well, one-half of my part. The craziness of the Texas Two-Step means that I get to go back to my polling place tonight and caucas. I've never caucased before, but it sounds really fun and important, like maybe I should wear an Amanda Woodward power suit and type on my Blackberry a lot. Even crazier, because the Texas Democratic Party consists of precisely five people and one large, ungainly dog, they don't have precinct chairs for every polling place. And the only qualifications for being a precinct chair are A) having voted earlier in the regular primary and B) being alive, so basically anyone who is alive and has voted is eligible. That means that, theoretically, if my polling place doesn't have an official precinct chair, I could do it. I think all you have to do is pass out papers and be a glorified cheerleader ("2!4!6!8! Who do we appreciate? Clinton! Clinton! Goooo Clinton!" or "Obama Obama, he's our man! If he can't win the Democratic Party nomination and then go on to beat McCain's weird, gelatinous face into the ground, no one can!" You can use those cheers if you want. You don't even need to credit me.). Still, though, Democratic Precinct Caucas Chair sounds pretty freaking important. It's too bad that teenagers can't vote; that sort of thing would look really good on a college application.

xx erin

Twice in one day? Apparently my long absence has turned me into quite the chatterbox.

I'd planned to write about the new movie from Simon Pegg and Michael Ian Black, Run, Fatboy, Run which I saw at an advanced screening last night (thanks, Mere!), but to be honest, it was neither a thing I loved, nor one I didn't. I liked it well enough but I found myself missing the subversive pop-culture references and sytlistic direction of a typical Pegg/(Stevenson)/Wright joint.

But what I would like to write about is the location of said screening, aka the best theatre in Houston, aka the Landmarks River Oaks Theatre. I love this movie theatre, y'all. In fact, it is probably my favorite theatre in America, second only to the original Alamo Drafthouse in Austin, which will always top any sort of ranking situation due to the fact that they serve actual food and also buckets of beer. But my odes to the Drafthouse shall have to wait for another day.

This is the River Oaks Theatre:




It's located in the (duh) River Oaks area of Houston, where all the hip rich folk live. I'm too poor to afford realty in the area, but they are nice enough to let us plebes roam the streets and dream about a more financially stable life. The theatre itself was built in 1939 and has been a Houston institution pretty much ever sense. It hosts first-run movies, indies and retrospectives. And, yes, it has a Rocky Horror Picture Show screening every weekend, at which I may have been present when I was a teenager. I'll say nothing about that.

The interior of the theatre is still that art-deco glam, with a small snack counter to the left and stairs leading to the second level (and the two smaller screens) to the right. And what greets you at the top of those stairs is the reason I love the River Oaks Theatre so much: a full bar.

Let me share with you a fundamental truth. No place in this entire world - not church, or a cupcake store, or a hospital birthing suite, or an old folks' home - not one place is so wonderful or awe-inspiring that its glory cannot be enhanced by a full bar. This is just a fact, people. Think back to the last time you felt absolutely one with the world, when your every breath was imbued with the satisfaction of knowing that you were exactly where you needed and wanted to be. Now, wouldn't that have been better with some whiskey?

The movies are no exception. Whether you're drinking to shut out the horror of what you're seeing, or to celebrate two animated rodents fall in love, you have to admit it all goes down better with the booze option. And this is why , more than the releases shown or its desperate attempt to make Houston a bit cooler, River Oaks Theatre is a good thing.

xx erin

"a curse upon her if she stay"

So something you may not know about me is that I tend to start things and then abandon them for months at a time. It happens a lot; I still have boyfriends from high school who are waiting for me to call them after I get home from dance practice. Okay, that's an exaggeration, obviously. Everyone knows I didn't have any boyfriends in high school.

At any rate, I apologize for my absence from the blogosphere (that's such a dumb word. Like I don't even think it makes sense in a scientific way. Where is the blogosphere located? At what distance from the earth? Will you be burned on your journey through defamer or Perez? Probably.) and can only offer for my excuse that I have been very busy buying a new car and being screwed over by the IRS. Also, tv.

One of the many reasons I've been kept busy is the fact that the third book in the Gemma Doyle trilogy has finally been released. So in anticipation of that event, I reread the first two books and am now happily ensconced in the last one, dreading the conclusion and hoping against hope that if the book does feature an epilogue, it does not involve Gemma's 2.5 children boarding a train for Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Yeah, I'm still not over that.

But perhaps I should back up and explain. Here is a true fact about yours truly: I love YA novels. Love them. People are usually either shocked or disdainful when I tell them this, which is dumb, because hello, we were all young adults at one time. Also, sometimes YA books talk about sex.

The Gemma Doyle trilogy is written by Libba Bray and is about a young teenage girl called Gemma (natch) who struggles to make her way in a repressive Victorian society whilst all the while grappling with a strange and exotic power that has been bestowed upon her. Joining her in her quests to discover the secrets of a magical dreamworld (while also learning how to properly serve tea) are her finishing school friends: the charming and damaged Felicity, beautiful and impestuous Pippa and scholarship student Ann, the emo self-harmer. (Whatever, I sort of hate Ann sometimes. Okay, you're poor and you'll have to be a governess to your bratty cousins! That's no reason to break out the sewing scissors, Maggie Gyllenhaal.) And, most deliciously, Kartik, the young Indian boy with whom Gemma would secretly like to have lots of sex and babies. So would I, Gemma! So would I.

The first book, A Great and Terrible Beauty sees Gemma struggling with her mother's death and a subsequent move to England from her childhood home of Bombay. She and her friends learn about the dark past of their finishing school, a secret group of powerful women called The Order, and the beauty of a place called the realms, where all their secret hopes can come true. Who controls the magic in the realms? Who are Mary and Sarah? And why won't Gemma just do it with Kartik already?

The second book in the trilogy is Rebel Angels and it picks up shortly after the first book ends. The girls have all changed: Gemma is experiencing frightening visions, Ann is struggling to invent a place for herself in British society, Felicity's secrets are revealed and poor Pippa is not at all what she seems. Gemma meets and is courted by the well-to-do Simon Middleton even as she fights her feelings for Kartik, and struggles to find a way to save her father from his opium addiction. Meanwhile, she struggles to find and destroy the villainous Circe and avoid the treachery of both the Order and their protectors, the Rakshana. And she still doesn't do it with Kartik, because she can't hear me screaming at her through the page.

The series ends with the most recent book, TheSweet Far Thing and I'm deep in the middle of it. No one is quite what they seem and poor Gemma has more enemies than ever. AND SHE STILL HASN'T GOTTEN IT ON WITH KARTIK. But they're getting closer. :)

Recommended for: fantasy lovers, girl power lovers and Jane Austen lovers. But hands off Kartik. I saw him first.

Breaking the rules with Back Door Slam

Breaking the rules, see, because it's not Music Monday (a guideline I set for this blog mostly to keep myself and Courtney from spending every day pimping some new band we're crazy about), but our long work-and-holiday-enforced radio silence on this blog is starting to give me hives, and needs must.

Something people may not know about me is my deep and abiding love for the blues. My parents are both from Mississippi, and I was spoon-fed on the blues from an early age. In my house, we aren't much for hanging family portraits on the walls; instead, we have framed photos of blues musicians. I used to pretend they were my relations - SRV was my dad's wayward brother, and I felt sure that BB and Lonnie Brooks were my kindly old grandpas. Blues, to me, is late nights half off your tits on whiskey and big cigars, watching some guy shred his guitar on a stage five feet away; it's Sunday afternoons spent cleaning the house with the windows thrown open and Texas Johnny Brown or Muddy Waters on the stereo loud enough to be heard from three blocks away; it's regular Monday nights back in Austin in college, drinking cheap beer and dancing with old men.

So when I first heard about Back Door Slam, I was interested in checking them out at last year's SxSW. I figured they'd be entertaining, and even if they weren't, blues-singing teenagers from the Isle of Man are enough of a novelty to be worth checking out. Apparently I wasn't the only person with that idea, as their venue ended up being so crowded that a good half of us were standing on the street outside. And, let me tell you, it was worth it. BDS are some sort of unholy love child of SRV and Hendrix, with maybe some parenting done by early Cream. They are fantastic. Lead singer Davy Knowles shreds the guitar like I shred cheddar for omelets, and, at eighteen, already has the low, smokey voice of a true bluesman. When I sent my friend Mere my list of bands to see at last year's ACL, Back Door Slam was underlined, hilighted, emboldened, italicised and accompanied by at least 5 exclamation marks. That's how impressed I was by them.

Lucky for you, if you haven't seen BDS yet, or have and crave some more, they're embarking on their second US tour right now. (Ah, the energy of youth.) You can check out their website (Back Door Slam Online) for more tour info.

And, as just a taste, here are two BDS youtube vids. The first is a promo video for their first US single, "Come Home." The second is the much-lauded cover of Hendrix's "Red House" from their SxSW 2007 showcase.





Enjoy.

-exx