Cupcakes

One might say that the them if this past week has been little indulgences. One might even say that I have been eating my fair share of cupcakes lately (oh, for once I actually manage to tie my title to the post!).  I have indulged my girly side by getting my first ever manicure - which I managed to ruin in the first five seconds after getting up from the chair. But, all is well; most of my fingers are still evenly coated with a fantastically lustrous purple-navy-blue.

I indulged my inner chubby by making the cupcakes I have always dreamed of: fluffy vanilla puffs topped with a luxurious swirl of chocolate frosting and a dash of colourful sprinkles. They are almost too pretty to eat - almost.

Finally, I indulged the child in my by taking the Lad out for a moonlight toboggan run. My spine has much to regret but I keep grinning. I don't know which is more fun:  shooting down a hard-packed slope until you come to a graceful stop, or going airborne over a massive bump and coming down head over heels and sliding the rest of the way on a now very sore behind. The hill is part of a local golf course but is transformed into a wicked sledding run in the winter. The bumps resemble a mogul run on a ski hill rather than a harmless jump which results in a lot of arm-failing and many a wipeout.

It is important not to forget that some of the best activities involve reverting to a time where we were a little bit softer and bundling up involved a snowsuit which looked like the illegitimate child of nylon and chemical warfare. And of course, hot chocolate and cookies are the timeless reward. If I were to spend all my time focusing on school reading, papers and work projects I don't think winter would have quite the same allure. My inner child still would rather play than go to school.

Book Review: Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life

BORN STANDING UP: A COMIC'S LIFE
Author: Steve Martin

Paperback: 208 pages
Publisher: Scribner; Reprint edition (Sep 2 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1416553657
ISBN-13: 978-1416553656

SUMMARY

Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life is a memoir, released November 20, 2007 , by Steve Martin, an American author , actor , comedian, executive producer , playwright and screenwriter . It chronicles his early life, his days working for Disneyland, working at low tier coffee shops and clubs as a comedic act, his later days of the Bird Cage, his relationships, his eventual fame, and the reason why he quit standup in 1981 all together. The book examines Martin's childhood, his first jobs at the Southern California theme parks, Disneyland and Knott's Berry Farm. It includes an interlude about the loss of his virginity to well-known Christian -oriented author Stormie Omartian and his later stand-up comedy career, which lasted until 1981 when Martin retired from stand-up comedy due to his feeling that he had pinnacled his stand up performance, and felt his routine was become bloated and old, and that he was now also starting to become an actor in movies, and to pursue his new film career full-time.

REVIEW

While this book references a time and movement that is way before my own I was glad to discover that it was still accessible to the contemporary reader. Having encountered several biographies (both auto and not) where the author assumes every reader knows all the period references I found myself being drawn into the world of young Steve Martin with ease.

When I was first introduced to Steve Martin it was already past his stand-up days. In fact, I only knew him from such comedy films as "Father of the Bride" and later on "The Jerk". Much later, discovered his stand-up work and found it delightfully strange. Through this book I was able to gain an intimate knowledge of the development of his career and the life that went into building is act.

The narrative flows easily from childhood to adulthood with plenty of charming, heartbreaking and intimate details along the way. Steve Martin has an engaging manner of writing that weaves jokes and quips so deftly into the story that I often found myself laughing without knowing exactly at what. The beauty of this was that it was precisely the aim of his comedy to have the build up of tension but never allow the release via laughter until after the joke had faded.

In many ways I found it hard to relate to the charmed nature of a 1950's childhood where a 13-year-old could go work at Disneyland without batting an eye. Following that there was the unimaginable upheaval of Flower Power and the Age of Aquarius, also beyond me. And yet, despite the faded and faraway nature of the memories, the story was vivid and compelling. "Born Standing Up" does not paint the stand-up comedy scene as an inaccessible miasma of laughter, fear and failure, but rather a culmination of a life spent in thought and the next logical step from performing magic tricks in front of a tiny crowd of customers.

Steve Martin's biography was touching without being sappy and honest without alienating the reader. Overall I would identify this book as a highly recommended read for anyone who is interested in stand-up comedy. Or perhaps, a world where life and how you got there was a very different road.






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Frigid

When a ten minute walk to the train station leaves my cheeks ablaze and fills my thighs with needles of ice, I seriously consider the pros of hibernation. In the progression from good to bad to better, we have entered the point that is worse which immediately precedes the getting better.

In short, it's cold. Every exposed patch of skin tingles and then burns. While I normally forsake the sardine tin which we in the City call the Metro in favour of a brisk walk, I am grateful for the possibility of ducking into the concrete underground to escape the chill.

I like to imagine that my cheeks are charmingly rosy upon coming in out of the cold, instead of the blotchy mess that they probably are. I keep up the hope that the snow will remain but the wind's bite will abate so that I might go skiing at least once this season. Hopefully some ski plans will come to fruition within the next month and I shall be shooting across pristine white slopes in no time.

The McGill scarf is growing exponentially since I discovered I was able to mindlessly knit while doing my readings. Pausing occasionally to count rows allows me to consider a particularly frustrating phrase from Kant or to nurse a few notions about Avant-garde paintings. At this rate I should be finished the thing and still be able to wear it on a sharp morning. As cozy as it feels on my lap I am sure it will be doubly so on my neck.

Some expectations for the week:

• Projects: Hem the lengths of Georgette I picked up yesterday for use as veils in belly dancing class. Thanks to a two-for-one deal I procured a length of juicy pink that reminds me of tropical flowers and yet another of late evening blue.
• In anticipation: A cookie-baking date with my wonderful Kooky Cookie Friend.  Nothing like baking with a good pal at the end of a cold week.
• Progress: Working towards fulfilling plans for being girly and getting a manicure. Anything to stop me from tearing my cuticles to shreds.

Oatmeal Packets, or A Certain Day in January

Not every day is about my life being fantastic, or at least I don't share as much. But today is going to revolve around making January 15th fantastic for a woman who is so dear to me.

That's my Mom, today is her birthday. And because we are both ladies I shall not divulge her age to the internet. My Mom has round, rosy cheeks and she still gives me hugs as if I was a six-year-old leaping into her arms.

She won't see this, and I don't think I would want her to be reading my blog, so I can be as sappy and candid as I like. She let me grow up to be me by allowing me to try on as many shoes, hats and finger-less gloves as I liked. The fact that I am happy with my life is enough to please her. For that, and so much more I am grateful. She took belly dancing classes with me, taught me to cook and bake, encouraged me to knit, fawned over my drawings and laughed at my attempts at wit even when the language and subject matter went over her head. She loves all my friends, cares for the Lad and puts up with me (most of the time) when I'm in a sullen mood.

I am proud to call myself her daughter and I hope to make up for those years when I wasn't aware of how lucky I am.

Mom, you make my life fantastic.
Love,

Katherine