COMPLETED #75--Sleep under the stars for an entire night

People, the Family Marcantel are not campers.

I felt I needed to start with that.

My parents never took me on wilderness adventures as a child, and the Girl Scout troop I was in mostly did our camping out at the park.  And I think we went home after the bonfire part.  In any event, I never pined for that kind of thing.  I never really really wished that I could go out into the middle of nowhere and get covered in dirt and pee in a hole and possibly confront a bear, or worse, bugs.  I was just fine being a non-camping kid.  And adult, for the most part. 

But there always exists the pull of things unknown...

When I made the list of 101 Things to Do, part of my reasoning was to try to expand my horizons.  And camping is something that sane people do, and seem to enjoy.   White people love it.  My best friend growing up and roommate in college, Christina, is absolutely berserk about it, and both my roommates in Chicago camp.  There had to be some appeal I was missing, I reasoned.   As a writer, I've done dumber stuff in the name of "gaining experience."  So I marked this item on the list and that was that.  It was all very easy, back in March, to think that eventually the opportunity to spend a night outside would present itself in some fashion, and now I'd have a reason not to immediately dismiss it.

Fast-forward to October.  It's fall in Chicago and I'm restless.  

I toy with the idea of a trip to the Pacific Northwest.  I send a message to a childhood friend, Sean, who lives in Oregon to ask for recommendations on what to do and see, and he tells me if I do decide to make the trek out west, he'll take me camping.  Eureka!  There's my opportunity.  Only... it occurs to me now... the whole set-up of the task mandates that I have to go camping WITH someone, because I'll obviously die out there on my own.  And, it strikes me well after I have accepted this invitation and booked the plane ticket, that I have no idea what kind of person Wilderness Chelsea is, having never met her.  She might be real cranky.  And here I am about to subject some poor person I haven't really spent time with since elementary school to a really unpredictable situation.  These are things I had not considered when I foolhardily just added things to a list of 101 ideas, never giving a second thought to all the people I might leave dead and bloodied or just mightily discomforted in my pursuit of completion.  The human toll.  I just never thought about it until that moment.

So my roommate Jane lent me a sleeping bag and a pad to go under it, and she offered me a big camping backpack, but Sean said we didn't need two of those.  Which was good, because I didn't cherish the idea of lugging that thing all over creation and looking like one of those poor Canadian girls that wanders all over Europe in chacos in the summer with a million water bottles strapped to her back.  The white dreads look will never be me.  But there was apprehension above and beyond the backpack dilemma.  As I hurriedly tried to cram the sleeping bag, pad, a regular-sized booksack, my clothes, shoes, and everything else I'd need into my suitcase the night before I left (having wisely left myself like 35 minutes to pack that night between work and seeing a show), I was alerted to Ashley's presence in my room by the soft sound of her derisive snicker.  I turned around, and as Ash watched me debate between packing a water bottle and a hair dryer, she snorted "This will only end in tears."  Oh, very supportive.  Thanks a lot.  Between her total lack of confidence and Andy's semi-constant prodding that I was sure to be eaten by bears, the Chelsea camping prognosis was looking bleak.

You can read about the rest of my trip to Portland here.

I did lots of indoorsy stuff.

The camping part is what's pertinent for this entry.

I was on my own in Portland for two days, and on the morning of the day before I was due to sleep al fresco, I checked the weather channel only to be told that it was predicted to start raining and not stop for the entire weekend.  There was even a little "severe weather warning" graphic next to the forecast.  That didn't bode well.  I called Sean to ask if drowning were now an additional concern, and his response was, "It's going to be wet and miserable and not any fun at all, but you have to do it, right?"  Which is absolutely the peril of being a "list person."  I did have to do it.  Sometimes, you just have to have no fun so you can check off the stupid box.

As predicted, the next morning dawned wet and shitty.  During breakfast, the rain started coming down really hard, the way it does often in Louisiana but hardly ever in Chicago.  Serious precipitation.  I sat in the restaurant and watched the rain fall through the glass, thinking about how much better I am at drinking coffee and talking about myself than camping.  Which was conjecture at that point since I had not yet been camping, but I was fairly certain I wouldn't excel, especially if I was to be damp the entire time.  Eventually breakfast was over and it was time to say goodbye to friends and the comfort of the indoors and hit the road.  It's a two-hour drive from Portland to the place we were headed, and cell phone reception gets spottier and spottier the further out you get.  That's how you know nature means business.

So, the Oregon coast is slap-ass GORGEOUS, let's start there.  

Mountains, beach, evergreens.  And in the autumn, just forget about it.  You'd be taking pictures like your grandparents at a dance recital, I don't care how cool you think you are.  I've never pretended to be cool at all, so you can imagine what I was like.  The drive was breathtaking, and the place we finally arrived, just as spectacular.

We planned to camp overnight on top of a mountain in Ecola State Park, in the very forest where The Goonies was filmed.  

Right?  I know!  Tell me that's not unbelievably wondrous-looking.  It's enough to make a person forget about the bears and the bugs.  Almost.

One of the first things we were told upon arrival at the park was that there hadn't been a bear around "in days," as though that were supposed to be comforting.  DAYS?  All that means is that the bear is hungry again.  You know they live for YEARS, right?  Ideally speaking, I'd like to show up the very day someone else has already been eaten, because I figure that buys me at least a couple of hours of unperturbed digestion time.  But no such luck.  Unfortunately, my companion took my half-serious ursine paranoia as his cue to "see" a bear every fifteen minutes.  Har.  Har.

So it turns out that camping involves hiking.  

Sure.  Why not?  The rain had slowed to a misty drizzle by this point, which was way more conducive to outdoorsiness in my mind, and the surroundings were so lovely that I found myself game for exertion.  Besides, I told myself,  I run.  I've hiked before.  I hiked in the Black Mountains in North Carolina when I was in college, and then back in February me and Derrick and Elizabeth and Chris and Jeremy Piven hiked Runyon Canyon in LA.  Remember that?  Right, so, no big deal.  I had a backpack and tennis shoes and was actually dressed somewhat appropriately.  To make an ass of myself.

People, if you know me, then all I have to say at this point is that it went about as well as you'd expect it to go.  I was huffing and puffing and trying to walk vertically up a mountain while carrying stuff on my back and getting spit on by the sky.  And being told there was a "bear" every other minute.  I didn't really cover  myself in glory, is what I'm getting at.  Sean kept saying things like "this is a really steep trail" and "I would be having a hard time too with that kind of backpack," but I think these were cleverly constructed motivational statements designed to keep me from giving up and just rolling back down to the truck.  The next morning on our way back (I am a super-pro at going downhill by the way) we were greeted by a rather chipper 60-year-old woman who was booking it up the trail with a backpack twice the size of mine on her back.  This further reinforced my conclusion that I'm a gigantic wuss.  But hey, I made it.  I didn't have to be air-lifted to the top of the mountain, and that's what counts, right?  Eventually, I reached a place where I could sleep under the stars.

And I did.

I slept in a forest on a mountain in a tent in the rain.

But even more astonishingly, I figured out why people go camping.

For the first time in years, YEARS, I didn't have to think about my next move.  I didn't have to plan the next three places I needed to be, or stress about getting a hundred things done before I needed to be there.  I just go to be where I was.  And it was quiet, except for the pleasant sound of the rain.  I turned off my phone (I inexplicably still had service) and didn't worry about checking it for calls or texts or emails.  I let all of Chicago--work, theatre, social commitments, bullshit dating crap--fall away.  The world was quiet and gorgeous and I just got to be in it.

Also, I didn't realize before this experience that it's impossible to talk about trivial things on the side of a mountain.  Though I've spent almost no time with Sean in the last, oh, decade, the conversation somehow brought itself around to questions of belief and life philosophy and the most interesting things we know about.  It sounds like heady talk for people supposedly engaged in a leisure activity, but it came about organically.  I discussed this phenomenon with Matt when I returned to Chicago, since he's spent more time in nature's grandeur than I have.  I asked him, why do you think you can't talk about TV shows and gossip on when you're surrounded by huge, old trees and the sound of the ocean?  His theory is, "you can talk about those things, but when you're in nature you realize how stupid you sound."  

So that's what I realized.

People go camping so they can take a moment to actually be in the moment, and to realize how stupid they usually sound.  

It's a tiny spiritual awakening.

I can really get behind that.

The actual sleeping part of the whole sleeping outside experience wasn't as bad as I'd feared.  I wasn't at all cold all bundled up in my long johns and sleeping bag, and I didn't have much trouble falling asleep.  I normally have trouble sleeping in a new place, but I think the absolute and total darkness and the sound of the rain on the tent helped.  I did wake up a few times in the blackness and think to myself "it's never going to be morning again," but I managed to get a couple of full hours of sleep-time in, which is saying a lot for the lulling powers of nature.  I hadn't been sleeping all that well in the hostel in Portland.

The sun rose, eventually, and Sean and I packed up the tent, etc, and headed down to the beach at the base of the mountain.  People were surfing.  I took more pictures.

See?  There's your proof.

We had lunch and headed back to Portland, and I spent the rest of my vacation sleeping in a bed and walking on flat streets.  But I managed to hold on to that little calm place in my head for the next couple of days.  It's long-gone now, which is why people go camping regularly, I suppose.  And I get it.  

The best part of being a list person is committing to doing things that remind you that you can surprise yourself.

COMPLETED #89--Visit the Pacific Northwest

I went to Oregon this month: Oct 15-20. 

By myself, for the most part.

I was supposed to direct a show at a theatre in Chicago that went under, and since I had the time off work scheduled and a burning desire to take a break from other rehearsals and my general personal-life-log-jam, I thought a trip was in order.  Everyone talks about Portland like it's America's own Brigadoon, and the Pacific Northwest is on the list.  No time like the present to check it out.

I got to Portland on Thursday.

And, as anyone who's ever vacationed with me would assume, I had a spreadsheet of things to Do and See, and places to Shop and Eat.

These were based on the recommendations of several blogs and online travel guides, Frommer's Portland 2009, and personal recommendations from friends and Facebook acquaintances.  In all, I had 33 possible starting points for adventure and three days in which to check off as many of them as humanly possible (because for two days of the trip I was to be camping--#75 on this list).  I arrived at my hostel at 2pm on Thursday, and there was no time to waste.

The hostel/guest house I stayed in--McMenamin's White Eagle--was pretty much perfect for my needs.  $45 per night got me a bed, a sink, towels and sheets, and live music coming up through the floorboards from the bar and restaurant directly below the 14 guest rooms.  Every room is given a name taken from a song, and the lyrics of the song are painted on the walls inside (I was in Mr. Spaceman).  Bathrooms are communal at the end of the hall, but the entire time I was there I never had to wait.  The hostel is located in a fairly industrial section of Portland, west of the river, but it's also only about 2 minutes from a yellow line station, so getting to and from various points of interest was pretty darn easy.  In short, I'd recommend.

I dropped off my bags (I was too early for check-in) and walked to the station to head downtown.  This was my first experience with what I'd come to know as a fact of life here: the public transportation system runs on the honor system.  You can buy a ticket for $5 and ride trains and buses all day, but chances are no one will ever check it.  And if someone should ask to see your ticket (which no one did the entire time I was there, and I rode a LOT), you can turn around and buy one from a kiosk ON THE TRAIN.  In the car you're riding in.  So it's pretty much a suggested donation, which I did make a few times, but more often than not I just jumped on and off trains and buses like a big old mooch.  Which I feel I'm entitled to do since I pay more every year to ride the godforsaken CTA, so it somehow karmically balances.

I wandered around downtown Portland for a bit, checking out Pioneer Courthouse Square and popping into a few stores I had on the list, which all turned out to be Momwear places, for the most part.  Pass.  Eventually I went back to the hostel to check in and used the brand new Zipcar app to make a reservation on a car from my phone.  Then I drove around Portland for a bit at night, sight-seeing, running errands, and stopping in to Rimsky-Korsakoffee House for dessert, since it was on my list.  The place is totally bizarre and the bathroom freaked my shit out, but the desserts are supposed to be some of the best in the city and the atmosphere is pretty awesome.  Also, there's live classical music every night.  At R-KH I had my first steamer, which (this is going to sound real dumb) is just steamed milk with a shot of flavor.  But I'd never had such a thing; I've never seen it as a menu option at coffee houses here.  I got an almond one and it was so amazing that I continued to seek them out the rest of the time I was in Oregon, including at the airport.  I have since learned that you can ask for steamed milk just about anywhere, even in Chicago, but it's never been as good as that first one.

FRIDAY was a pretty big day, as I had a lots of hours on my own and quite a bit of ground to cover.  I started by walking north to Pix Patisserie (omyg click that link), which is supposed to have the best desserts in Portland.  Judging by the pumpkin crème brûlée under a next of chocolate, pecans, and cinnamon, as well as the violet macaron that I feasted upon, I'd probably have to concur.

After doing a little shopping in the area of Pix, I hopped on a bus going south in order to check out one of the area's biggest draws (in my mind): Velveteria: The Museum of Velvet Paintings.  I'm going to assume you don't need a whole heck of a lot of explanation as to what lies therein.  It's very much a storefront chock-full of every kind of velvet painting you can possibly imagine, divided into sections based on subject matter (see: the black light room, the gallery of presidents, and the wall of unicorns) and labelled with hand-written signage and snarky remarks from the owner.  It's all just perfectly what you'd expect it be; even the "curator," who was super-duper pleasant and dressed like a children's TV show host, gave off a general air of "what can I say about this?" shruggy-ness.  Perfect.  Glorious.  I'll show up to see the worlds largest or oldest or dumbest anything.  I want the kitsch.  And if Anthony Bourdain and The Shins have been there, who am I to be above such a place? 

(skip to 7:09 to see the Velveteria)

After the Velveteria, I hopped another bus downtown to Powell's City of Books, which purports to be the largest new and used bookstore in the world.  And yet they still didn't have the semi-obscure play from 1953 that I needed.  Ah, well.  There was plenty of other literature to go around, including two rare books that my mother had requested I hunt for.  The interesting thing about the layout of Powell's is that all the available copies of a given book, new and used, are situation next to each other on the shelves.  So you can hold the new $15 edition and the used $7 copy up to each other and decide if it's worth the extra $8.  Very cool.  One entire city block of books, three stories deep.  And the woman who rang me up used to live in Chicago; she recommended I move to Portland if I got sick of the winters.  

This was a common theme on my trip: someone telling me all about themselves out of nowhere and then making a recommendation.  I've been lots of places on my own, but never have I attracted so much friendly, helpful attention.  I even got invited to a house party by a barista, because he and I both like ketchup but not tomatoes and are therefore clearly soul mates.  (I passed, Mom.)  Also, there is no sales tax in Portland.  How are these hippies keeping this ship of dreams afloat?

After Powell's, I hopped on a streetcar and headed up to Nob Hill for shopping.  I'd read that this hood is the place to buy cool stuff if you're young and awesome, so it was on the list.  I bought a few pairs of earrings, but I knew I wouldn't have a whole heck of a lot of room in my suitcase going home (I'd barely made it to Oregon with my clothes, etc, and the full-sized sleeping bag and pad for camping).  I also managed to find Ashley a sock monkey, which was totally coincidental, since about 3 days before she'd asked me "Will you buy me a sock monkey?" and I'd responded "Where would a person even find such a thing?"  Portland, it turns out.  Nob Hill area.

After shopping on Friday night I journeyed back to downtown and got lost for the one and only time.  I'd like to point out that this was an occasion in which I was trying to use a paper map instead of Google Maps on my iPhone, and the map I'd picked up on the train THAT VERY DAY was out of date and the route I was trying to find had been changed.  Paper fail.  Techno win.  There's an app for that.

SATURDAY and SUNDAY I went camping. 

You can read more about that in the post for #75--Sleep Outside for an Entire Night.

The abridged version is that my friend Sean and I drove for two hours across the state from Portland to the Coast, and spent the night in Ecola State Park.  A more breathtaking drive for foliage, I have not taken.  

It didn't any less glorious once we arrived, either.  Apparently the view of the ocean from the cliffs in this state park is one of the most photographed along the whole Oregon coast, and you can see why.  I'm not a very good photographer and I have a pretty standard little camera, and even I was able to produce something profound.  That has everything to do with the subject matter.  The ocean was choppy and grey and magnificent, the cliffs were tall and verdant, and the beach was smooth and inviting.  Those are my best travel brochure adjectives.  I hope that this isn't getting gushy.

The forest we camped in wasn't too shabby, either.  It was the greenest place in the history of green, due to the fact that there is such constant precipitation that everything is covered in a layer of spongy moss.  The trees are tall and old and it's very quiet.  Pretty forest primeval.  Pretty mind-blowing.  I kept staring at things because I didn't think they could be real.

Anyway, more about camping over here.

Back to Portland.

Upon my return to Portland proper, I ventured to Voodoo Doughnut, a 24-hour donuteria that several people, including Uncle Tony Bourdain, recommended.  (See the video above for footage of his visit.)  And while the help was scary, the vegan and non-vegan donuts that I attacked were not.  I'll go a long way for an exotic dessert, as most of you know.  No, I didn't eat that bacon one at left, but I did partake of a donut dusted with Butterfinger crumbs.  And that's worth the price of admission right there, folks.

MONDAY was my last full day in Portland, and I got up early to kick it off right.  It had occurred to me at some point the night before that the only way I was going to get everything done that I wanted to would be to get a Zipcar for a few hours, so I spent more money than I should have making that happen.  I did manage to see quite a few things, though, including the inside of a laundromat where I washed my filthy camping clothes since there was no way I was putting them in my suitcase in the condition in which they returned to the city.

Other things I got up to besides the laundromat include:  

Found and consumed two more almond steamers!

Sight-saw at Stark's Vacuum Cleaner Museum.

Saw Portlandia, the largest copper statue in the US after the State of Liberty

Ate at the India Chaat House Foodcart.  Food carts are HUGE in Portland; they're all over dowtown and serve every kind of food imaginable.  This one was recommended by a book, and as I love Indian food, I sought it out.  Best veggie samosa I've ever eaten.

Saw the Portland Japanese Garden and the International Rose Test Garden, where new varieties of roses are tested a few years before they're made available to the public.

Also, I went shopping in the Mississippi Street area, another recommendation.

All in all, a very productive day.

I wrapped it up by eating at Montage, a restaurant on my list, and trying to stuff everything back into my suitcases while listening to live music through the floorboards of my hostel room.

TUESDAY I was to leave Oregon, but I had half a day to continue exploring.

I ate breakfast at Bijou Café and then moseyed around downtown, hauling my luggage behind me.    I went down to the waterfront park and hung out in Chapman Square for a while, searched unsuccessfully for another steamer, and took some pictures at Mill Ends Park, the smallest park in the world.

Yes, it counts.

And that little park marked the last thing I did on my spreadsheet, bringing my completed total to 17 of 33 items, which isn't bad considering each completed square usually leads to three or four new adjacent adventures.

Eventually it was time to hop on the red line to the airport (without paying, geezum, I miss that) and encounter the easiest airline check-in and friendliest security staff I've ever had.  And I've done time in airports.  It was a fitting end to the cordial atmosphere of the entire trip.

So, final grade for the City of  Portland:

-- Public Transportation runs on hope and the honor system +7
-- People are disarmingly nice and helpful +5
-- Vegetarian friendly +4
-- Introduced me to almond steamers +4
-- No SALES TAX at ALL +10
-- Lots of ridiculous museums +17
-- Polite pan-handlers +2

-- System of one-way streets to which I can ascribe no rhyme or reason -6
-- Lack of the flagrant display of homosexuality that I now need to feel comfortable -3
-- Where are the drugstores? Really? They should be on every other corner. -4
-- No air pollution that smells like warm chocolate -2
-- Water fountains can't be turned off -10

Final Grade :: A-

Well played, P-Town.  Well played indeed.

And that goes for you, too, Rest of Oregon.

Time and money well spent.

Completed #8--Be Interviewed

Recently, I worked with InFusion Theatre Company here in Chicago on the development of a play idea I've been kicking around.  You can read about the play, Everything is Permitted, here.  

At a showcase on 9/21, my good friend and great video artist, Chris Schreck, and I were able to present a short 10-minute preview of what this theatre/video collaboration would look like.  We worked with a really talented director and team of actors to get this off the ground, and the results were pretty cool. The showcase also featured previews of 3 other plays in development.

Unfortunately, there is no record of the show itself, but here's an excerpt from the post-show discussion, in which I talk about my process, wave my hands around like a conductor, and make a reference to Top Chef, a show I don't watch.

One interview, in the can.

COMPLETED #35--Go Home (Louisiana) for Labor Day Family Reunion

Every year at Labor Day, my Dad's mother's family gets together at our camp in Lakeside, Louisiana for two days of swimming, boating, skiing, dominoes, feasting, and very loud talking.  

It's a charming mix of older, younger, and canine Marcantels, Bourgeoises, and DeGravelles.

The camp

And I'm sick of missing it.

Yes, it was 100˚ with 100% humidity, and yes, I had to take time off work and buy that plane ticket.  But my family is always at the front of my mind, and time spent with them could not be better used.  I also convinced my pal Nk to come with, so it had all the elements of a vacation as well as a home-going.

Introducing Nk to our local culture and cuisine

It had been 9 months since last I was home--the longest I'd ever been away.

And it was just as glorious as I could have hoped.

Coincidentally, it was one of the most exciting Labor Day family reunions we've ever had.  No hurricanes this year, but Saturday did kick off with a trip to the emergency room, where my cousin Scott was treated for a kidney stone.  The next order of business was fighting a brush fire that was accidentally set in our neighbor's field.

My dad--the last action hero

Once the fire was taken care of (ie, got beyond our control and that of the Klondike volunteer useless department, and was left to burn itself out), we resumed the eating and shouting that normally characterize the day.  Also, we had to be sure to tune in, as a family, to the first LSU game of the season.  WIN, by the way!

Dogs are not excused from watching the game.

Sunday dawned clear and hot--perfect weather for playing a cut-throat game of chicken foot dominoes in the air conditioned camp, which we do every year.  I didn't win, but Scott reliably cheated, Brett had a field down knocking down everyone else's dominoes, and Great Aunt Nyada told each of us in turn "I hate you" when our luck was better than hers.

Everyone's a winner, but someone has to actually win.

And then we feasted.

Feeding Frenzy

With seeds for spitting

Water sports, you ask?

Why yes. Yes we did.

Lindsay had the best form, but Lauren gets the award for best wipeout.

Dad contemplates how best to launch Scott and Brett from the tube

Lindsay shows us all up

Sun-burning

It's all fun and games once you're back in the boat

And as an added bonus, I got to spend the last 20 hours of my trip in Baton Rouge with my two best girl friends, one of whom is 7 months preggo, for a mini Tripod Reunion.  I am but one leg of the tripod, and we are much more stable together.  Fun unbounded.

My hearts

Best use of a plane ticket I can possibly think of.

6 days in Louisiana with Nk, my family, and my loving pals.

Feasting and resting and boating in the sun.

Home will always be where the heart is.

Où que je me retrouve, mon âme est Acadien.

Sunset on the Mermentau River

COMPLETED #47--Jump into a Body of Water Fully Clothed

Sounds like fun, right?

I had intended for this to be a major body of water, like a lake or an ocean, when I set myself the task.  However, a perfect opportunity presented itself when I went home for Labor Day, and I couldn't pass it up.

A brush fire was accidentally set in our neighbor's field, and we spent four hours trying to put it out.  It was a lovely way to kick off this year's reunion, battling a blaze in direct sunlight for four hours in 100˚ heat with 100% humidity.

Some people did a lot.

Some people did... less...

But at the end of the conflagration, we were all hot and sweaty and covered in grass and ash.

And no one wanted to take the time to put on bathing suits before jumping into the delightfully frigid pool.

There were more fully-clothed cousins who partook of this shenanigan, but Angélique and I beat them to the pool and didn't want to wait for a group picture.

So, there you have it.

It was pretty swell.

COMPLETED--#61 Prepare a 3-Course Dinner for My Family, Not My Friends

The task might sound a tad harsh at the outset, but let me clarify by pointing out that I cook for my friends ALL THE TIME. Thanksgiving, people's birthdays, large parties, "gumbo weather," etc. There barely needs to be an excuse for me to start whipping out stockpots and slow cookers in Chicago. But when I go home, I either want to eat in the delicious Louisiana restaurants that I so miss, or I expect to be cooked for.

It occurred to me when I was creating my list of 101 things that my parents might not even know that I can cook, even though they're at least 82% responsible for that fact. And so, when I went home to visit for Labor Day, I decided that the time was upon me to give back a little, in a culinary manner.

So, Nk and I went to Wal-Mart to assemble the needed ingredients, and then we cooked up a storm. Because Dad likes to eat well before 8:30pm (which was looking like go-time; I got a little lost in Wally World) mom helped us prep. But I'm still counting this, though I didn't do ALL the work myself. I never specified that I couldn't have help, after all.

As an added treat, my sweet little sister set the formal dining table for the event while we were at the store. We never eat at the Big Table. This was to be a banner event.

Appetizer: Mini Pizzas

I wanted to make mini Thai pizzas, which are way more impressive and exotic, but the Wal-Mart in Jennings, Louisiana inexplicably does not carry peanut sauce. I know. It's shocking.

Main Course: Savory Pear/Soy Bacon/Gouda/Rosemary Bread Pudding

This is one of my specialities, and the family really enjoyed it. Even dad, who doesn't necessarily like "cute" food or things made with meat substitutes.

I got the recipe forever ago from Marti's recipe blog, and I'll forever be grateful.

The savory bread pudding was accompanied by steamed veggies.

And, in a fun turn of events, two of my cousins arrived in town for the next day's family reunion, just time to join us!

Family meal: Now with more family!

Dessert: Dump Cake

This is my mother's recipe, and a family favorite. Basically, you dump a cake mix, some fruit, pie filling, and nuts into a pan and bake it. You skip the mixing bowl entirely. What results is more like a cobbler than a cake, and trust me, it is to die. We made both apple and blueberry varieties.

The peasants rejoiced.

So there we have it.

Six family members, one friend, and a three-course meal.

Of course my brother Noel was MIA, having chosen to stay in Baton Rouge an extra night before coming home for the reunion.

And if he thinks I'm going through all this again just for him, he's nuts.

COMPLETED #74--Sing Again in Front of People (Not Karaoke)

Well... I'm on the bill for this.

We had our first rehearsal day before yesterday.

I feel like this.

A ten-minute set.

Eleven days from now.

*Gulp*

UPDATE: 24 August 2009

I did it!

I sang three half-songs in front of a room full of 80 or so strangers, and I didn't choke and I didn't screw up!  I was nervous as all-get-out beforehand, but once I was onstage, it was like my body said "oh, I remember this."  

I used to sing A LOT as a kid; talent shows, parish fairs, school assemblies, sporting events, church, funerals, weddings, anything really.  I got trotted out all over the state.  And singing was how I got into acting, which is how I got into writing, so really it's the beginning of the chain.  My parents still LOUDLY lament the fact that I don't do any singing in Chicago, ever, and when I go home any person I run into in my hometown will invariably ask me "are you still singing?"  And, you know, I'm not.  It's not my focus, and as I have calmly explained to my parents time and time again, some of the best voices in the world live in Chicago.  They've been trained, they've got the goods and the drive.  My voice is not needed here, and you know what, I'm pretty fine with that.  I can't complain about how this whole writing thing is going for me, and I'm not going to try to usurp someone else's dream.  Because I might have been the best 11-year-old chanteuse in Jennings, Louisiana, but that don't add up to much out here in the real world.

However, I wrote it on the list.

Because there's something about putting on old skin that feels rejuvenating.

And I did it.  I sang.

I think I sounded pretty good, and I'm usually an astute judge of how I'm performing.

Unfortunately, there are no extant pictures or video that I know of, but I have reproduced here the act that I wrote and performed, aided and abetted graciously by the guitar stylings and assorted grumblings of Austin Oie.

The video clips are the songs I sang.

Good evening everyone!

I'm so glad that you all came out to join us tonight.  It's a big night for me, personally, because I'm going to do something new and different and a little bit scary for me, and it's nice to see familiar faces out there.  So, here goes nothing.

As most of you know, I'm a writer.  Plays, almost exclusively.  But lately I've been dealing with some issues, having some thoughts, there have been things on my mind that I felt I needed to address in a more, um, immediate way.  So I've been writing songs.  I know!  It's exciting!  I'm not sure if they're really any good, and I know that they're definitely unexpected coming from yours truly, but I wanted to sing a few of them for you here tonight and possibly get some feedback, try to gauge whether or not this is something I should keep moving forward with.  I should add that none of the songs are finished yet, so I'm just going to sing what I have worked out so far, and I hope that you'll all be supportive, but, you know, honest, because it all comes from the heart.  All of these sentiments come from a very real place and I'm, you know, vulnerable about this new venture. 

So this first song addresses the feeling I know we've all had at some point in life, of being a fish out of water.  You're in a new place or a new situation, and it seems like everyone's playing a game you don't know the rules for.  I sure had that feeling when I moved here, and there have been other disorienting events in the last three years that have brought me back to that place, emotionally.  So I think this song really addressees that need we all feel, as human beings, for the sense of acceptance that comes with being part of a community.  That drive to belong.  I think this first song I wrote deals with that in a truly poignant, honest way.

Thank you, thanks everyone.   I feel like that got a really positive response.  I'm going to go ahead and keep working on that one, then.  I'm not sure what to call it yet, but I think it's going to be really great once it's finished.  

This next song sort of takes that feeling of acceptance and community and scales it down to a more individual level.  It's so great to find a group you can belong to, yes, we all seek that, but it's also important to find singular people that you can let yourself become really close to.  I have, gosh, I just have some of the best pals a girl could ask for.  I'm talking about people who know all my secrets and like me anyway, people who are constantly supportive, who will lie for me, who will lie to me, if that's what my ego needs at the time.  I recently became overwhelmed by the feeling that, yes, it's possible for two people to find each other in this crazy world and really connect on a genuine level.  Really be on the same wavelength.  And it gives a person an enormous feeling of security and warmth to know that when she reaches out, there will be a hand right there to grab on to.  But you know, sometimes, in all the hustle and bustle of life in this modern age, we get distracted and forget to tell those people how we truly feel about them.  So I've been working on a song that I hope will help me to sort out the strong, multi-layered feelings that I have for my closest confidantes, and it's not finished, as I said, but you know, just let me know if you think it's headed anywhere.

Golly, wow!  This is going so much better than I could have even hoped!  Geezum.  Okay!  I'm feeling really supported and loved right now.  I'm so glad I was able to come here tonight to try out these totally and completely new and never-before-heard songs, and that you're all responding with such positive energy.  It's scary, you know, to debut completely new art for people, but this group is just so amazingly receptive.  Okay.  Great.

So, this is my last song.  Probably the most complex song I've ever written.  I don't want to say it's the most complex song anyone's ever written, but, you know.  It might be.  It's maybe my third-to-best work to date.  It's about, you know, the recession mostly.  I think that the current socioeconomic state we find ourselves in as a country has really cast into sharp relief the choices we make as artists, between pursuing security and monetary success and, you know, holding on to our dreams and really investing whole-heartedly in those.  And times are tough, y'all, they're tough all over.  And maybe some of us are thinking that we should have chosen different paths, we should have taken a safer route, because it feels like things might not turn around any time soon.  So this song has to it really more of a, um, a global consciousness, I guess I would say.  Right now it's written as a duet, but I hope that it can eventually evolve to be one of those "We are the World"-type things and I can rope Bono and Sting and like 40 other people into singing different lines.  Yeah.  It's about holding on to your art and your aspirations in the face of international calamity, really.  This one's for the dreamers.

Oh, wow.  Just, yes, thank you so much.  So much.  Really.  I'm feeling like I'm getting a, well, pretty much a mandate to continue working on writing songs and creating new music that is, quite obviously, filling some hole in your lives that nothing else could.  I'm overwhelmed right now, you know, I'm just out of things to say.  I really appreciate your trust and the fact that y'all were willing to go out on a limb with me tonight on these absolutely, completely, utterly new songs.  Thanks again.  Have a great night!

And then I bowed, and exited to thunderous applause.  And giggles.  The whole schtick went over really well; everybody got it, everyone was on board.  And I got to sing onstage at Martyr's, you know, where I saw Andrew Bird?  Totally legit.  

I gotta give a big shout-out thanks to the other vagabonds in Cabaret Vagabond for giving me an outlet for this endeavor JUST BECAUSE I wanted to do it, and most especially to Dani, who wouldn't let me "just read something" because, she said, "It's on your list!"  That's support, y'all.  And that's what collaboration's all about.