Hot Mama

I have a new hobby. That is, if doing something twice constitutes it as being a hobby, which in this case I think it does. Mainly because I have every intention of doing it again and again. This new hobby is making hot sauce (salsa, for you non-Texans*). My loving parents equipped me with a food processor this year, and what better way to put it to use? Now, instead of paying for chips and hot sauce at restaurants or going to nasty nast "Mexican" places for the free chips and hot sauce (I'm looking at you, La Parilla, El Amigo), I just whip up my own. Wut wut culinary goddess right here.

My first attempt was tomatillo based, and it was tasty albeit disappointing. The jalepeno I added did not provide near enough heat for my taste. My second attempt is tomato based and in the fridge right now to let the flavors meld. I used serrano peppers in hopes of kicking the spice up a notch. We'll see how it goes. If you know of any good hot sauce recipes, or if you call the local food columnist and ask for her thoughts on recipes used at a certain favorite Mexican restaurant, let me know.

*I learned when I got to Georgia that, over here, "salsa" is what you call hot sauce and "hot sauce" is what you call Tabasco. I've always just referred to any salsa as "hot sauce" and any hot sauce as "Tabasco", kind of like all sodas are called "Coke" and facial tissues are called "Kleenex". Deal with it, Georgians. Another discrepancy between here and Texas is that the poor Walmart cashier had no clue what a tomatillo was. Even when I informed her that she was holding peppers called tomatillos, she had no clue where to find them on her handy dandy produce chart. I knew I could have helped her out by pronouncing the "L"s, but I wasn't about to stoop so low. Deal with it, inner city Atlantans that work at the Walmart.

booksandbooksandbooks

I've spent countless hours thinking about goals for this semester/year. Some are silly, some are serious, some benefit me, some benefit others, some are big, some are small. Given my track record on things like new years' resolutions and diets that perpetually start tomorrow, I'm working extra hard to follow through on these goals. I guess you could call it a goal to achieve my goals...

Anyway, one of the most prevalent things I think of over and over again is the fact that I want to do stuff. I've been living in Atlanta, a super cool city, for two years now and I feel like I haven't even scratched the surface of all that's available to do. Cue this morning's excursion to the Decatur Book Festival with the roomie. It was a Molly Cook dream come true. There were books, authors, and giant crossword puzzles everywhere. And I got a Michael Jackson paper doll fo' free. Step one on my journey to do stuff: complete.

So here's to book festivals, and here's to this blag keeping me accountable for reaching my goals.

Winter is Coming

In middle school, I read like a boy. All the book needed was a dragon on the cover or eight more books in the series or multiple subtitles in swirly fonts and I would read it. That is, until one fateful day of eighth grade when my love of fantasy novels was tainted forever. 

After finishing some lame powerpoint assignment about hurricanes that included the use of hyperlinks - woah, dang - in Ms. Parker's class, I got my agenda signed specifically to go to the library for the next book in the Shannara series by Terry Brooks. (I kid you not, this is what Wikipedia says about the series: "...chronicles the adventures of brothers Shea and Flick Ohmsford in their quest to retrieve the Sword of Shannara to defeat the Warlock Lord who threatens the Four Lands". You'd best believe I ate this fantasy gold up.) As is wont with series of this nature, there were about fifty bajillion different side stories and parallel tellings and prequels and sequels. I had no idea which book came next. Naive eighth grader as I was, and still believing that every single librarian knew every single thing about every single book, I decided to ask the Librarian With the Missing Finger for help. She took a glance at the shelf/series I inquired about, and disdainfully tossed her head away saying, "Oh, I don't read those books." I know for a fact that my face flushed bright red as I shoved books back on the shelf in Dewey Decimal order as quickly as possible, jetting out of the door without anything to take home. Those books were not good books. Those books were not adult books. To ever be taken as seriously about books as a librarian, I could never read those books again. And I never did. Barring the last two books of the Inheritance Cycle, I have steered clear of dragons and knights and magical creatures ever since.

Fast forward six years and imagine my elation at the realization that THEY MAKE FANTASY BOOKS FOR ADULTS. You know how I know they're for adults? The TV series is on HBO! That's adult-y! Yes, folks, I am slightly obsessed with the A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones series. It's good to be back in the fantasy world again. And it's even better to be in the middle of the series while I'm in Europe, crawling around castles and the like. Plus, the show is conveniently at my fingertips thanks to the file sharing provided by my French dorm. Thank heavens for the mass amount of time spent on trains this summer, where it is socially acceptable to read for hours on end without talking to anyone, and for the nights free from responsibility, where I can cozy up in bed with a mug of tea and watch back-to-back episodes.

So take that, Librarian With the Missing Finger. Maybe you should give those books a chance, or at least try not to dissuade middle schoolers from reading them. Anything and everything that gets kids excited about reading is worthy literature.

"This next song is about getting drunk in a club...no, it's not."

I wrote the previous post about Music Midtown many moons ago. Then I forgot to post it and it was lost in the blagosphere. Until now. It's timely. You'll see.

It really is no secret that I love concerts. In fact, this past Sunday I might have gone to my very favorite one yet. But I wouldn't put any stake into those words, if I were you, because I think every concert I go to is my very favorite one yet.

It's also no secret that I love Twitter. It's probably my very favorite form of social media. This Sunday, for all of the humor, wit, charm, and facetiousness I've poured into the outlet, it gave back to me in a huge way. I happened to read "Highway to Atlanta" from William Fitzsimmons on Sunday afternoon, Bing searched it, and discovered he was playing literally down the street from me on Sunday night. For $18. In a small, cozy venue. Yes ma'am, thank you. I jumped on that and bought a ticket without so much as a second thought. Then I tried to spread the word, but couldn't find any lovers to accompany me, so independent, big city Molly flew solo for a breathtaking adventure.

The venue was the upstairs of an "olde" bar. It was a William Fitzsimmons concert. [read: everyone of age and their mother was drinking PBR. it was a hipster fest. meanwhile, I was in a cardigan and Gap jeans.] I got there right when the doors opened, landing a front row slightly to the left spot, which I kept and no one pushed me or rubbed against me or anything. (Folksy concerts = perfect for people who don't like to be touched.) The opening act was the brother/sister duo Noah and Abby Gundersen. They were quite enjoyable. He played guitar and sang, while she played violin and provided vocal harmonies. After their set, I noticed one of Noah's guitar picks left on the stage. I caught the attention of the set-up man and asked for it. Score. And then it was William. He was positively affable. It felt like he was just your uncle's cool, weirdo friend who invites everyone over to listen to a folk jam sesh. It was brilliant. His music was wonderful, his presence was gracious and humble, his wit was sharp, his beard was luxurious, his commentary kept me in stitches. It was just all around a great experience. For his last song, he tuned up, then pointed out into the middle of the crowd. "I'm just going to come out right in the middle there, and everyone can gather around. Like a campfire." Yeah, right, he'd been cracking jokes all night, this was just another....then his face was right next to mine as he dismounted the stage immediately in front of me and walked past me right into the throng, playing his last song in the middle of the floor while we gathered round him like a campfire. Wondrous.

William Fitzsimmons

The Courage

Campfire time

 After the show, I hung around with a few other people, hoping for the chance to meet the artists. I talked to Abby first. She was delightful. Only 19 and touring the country with her brother in a band. Then I talked to Noah, and asked about the tattoo I'd been trying to read all the while he was onstage. Turns out it's a Peter Pan quote. And then it was William. I snagged a set list from the stage, and he autographed it for me, talked to me for a little bit, demurred at my compliments, and laughed when I rejoiced over being in such close proximity to the beard. Quality people, quality night, and well worth leaving the confines of my routine-based comfort zone.

Abby Gundersen

Noah Gundersen

Please note my awkward hand, on the left.

The man. The beard.

Music Midtown

{This was written on September 25, 2011 and left to rot. Oops. Better late than never, I suppose.}

It's no secret that I love concerts. I know I've said before that I prefer small, intimate venues, but after today's Music Midtown I'm not too sure - festivals and small venues might now be tied in my book. I just really love concerts.

Basically, Music Midtown was a full day of music in Piedmont Park. Two stages, multiple bands, lots of fun. When we got to the park, we bummed around in front of one of the stages, waiting for some band called Walk the Moon to come on. As we stood, a guy came around with a paper plate and asked if I wanted some face paint. The answer to this question is always yes, my friends. So, he proceeds to dot my face with purple and carries on his merry way. 15-20 minutes later, Walk the Moon takes the stage and THERE HE IS. Front and center, the face-painter is also the leadsinger/keys. And he touched my face. And all of us ended up being pleasantly surprised by their show, seeing as we had never heard of them before. Very nice. After their set was over, we continued to take in the atmosphere. The next band we actually stood and listened to fully was Manchester Orchestra. Then...

...The Black Keys. Since we stood at the stage for the hour in between Manchester Orchestra and the Black Keys in order to move on up through the crowd, we witnessed the set-up process. It included inflating a giant Tiki man, tire, and hanging a giant inflatable dreamcatcher. Um, yes. I loved their show. It was fun and you could tell that they were enjoying it as well as the crowd. On that note, I will say that I've never felt so strongly about the band enjoying the concert as much as the crowd as I did about Coldplay tonight. They were amazing, y'all. They played Yellow. They added an audience chorus at the end of The Scientist and Chris Martin proclaimed it "sounded fantastic". They covered Everybody Hurts in honor of R.E.M. They applauded the crowd. They sang a stanza of Georgia on my Mind as a prelude to Fix You. They were pretty great, and we were less than ten yards from the stage. All in all, a superb day.

Roll Bounce

When I was in elementary school, I used to beg my mom to arrange plans so that I wouldn't have to go to people's birthday parties if they were at the Skateplex. I had an aversion to the venue. Probably because it smelled funny, the skates were nast, I was scared of the races and the guy/girl skates and playing Wipeout, and the other skaters were unpredictable. I am proud to announce that I have since overcome the aversion, and were anyone to have a birthday party at a skating rink I'd probably be able to go.

Why this insight into my skating history? Because this evening I went to a roller rink. A roller rink named Sparkles. It only had the old school four wheels. And I balled. I only fell once, and I successfully weaved in and out of millions upon millions of waist-high black children. Except once, when a flock of young boys assumed the Flying V and headed straight for me (on a turn, no less) and I ended up running into one of them, grabbing his arm, swaying, steadying myself, and managing to keep both of us on our feet. Then I gave him a thumbs up. Somebody call Lil' Bow Wow.

Mail Musings

There's nothing like getting mail. I like getting junk mail from the Texas State Historical Society. I like getting personal letters about day to day life from my family. I like getting cards and notes from my friends in other states. I like getting postcards from distant lands. I like it all. Nothing makes one feel so important and thought of as seeing that flash of white envelope through the little mailbox window.

But sometimes I get selfish. Sometimes I forget to share this feeling. Sometimes I don't send things through the mail but expect to receive things all the same. And that's just not cool.

It's time to bring back written correspondence, y'all.

Garba!

Ever since watching the umpteenth Cheetah Girls movie, you know, the one where they go to an India where nothing bad ever happens and everything is clean and nice, I've been enthralled with Bollywood. Not to the point where I watch Bollywood movies and eat Indian food and all that jazz, but enough to jump around in my room every once in awhile and "twist the lightbulb" in an attempt to Bollywood dance and watch Billu Barber once on an airplane. So, when the opportunity came for me to join in on a huge Indian dance party, I naturally jumped at the chance.

Cue Garba this past Saturday. I have an awesome Indian friend who let me borrow the most beautiful Indian costume and helped me pin my scarfy thing that probably has an Indian name. Then I have another awesome Indian friend who gave me a bindi (head dot) to wear. When all were outfitted, we paraded over to the Student Center to join the party. There were beautiful Indian people everywhere. Seriously. Beautiful. I couldn't stop gawking at all of the gorgeous clothes and jewelry. Per usual, many pictures were taken before we headed into the ballroom. The format of Garba was threefold: first were the circle dances, where everyone that knew the steps danced around in a big circle, second were the stick dances, where you hit your special dancing sticks that have Indian names together, and third was the Bollywood dance, where everyone lets loose. I tried to jump into the circle dances every once and a while, when the steps were easy enough for me to pick up on. The sticks (called dandiya. Thanks, Wikipedia) were fun, too, and our group got to dance in a big circle together. And then, Bollywood. It was amazing. My tactic was to watch the most Indian looking people and try to imitate their feet, hand, and shoulder movements. Apparently, I wasn't too shabby, because at one point I was pushed into the middle of a circle of Indian guys, started doing my best trying to copy them, and they were all quite impressed. After making my exit, one even came up to me and said "Dat vas sooo good!" New calling? I think so.

They're All Catching Up to You

Well, it seems as if I am utterly incapable of taking a day off. On this lovely three day weekend, instead of watching movies and TV and eating hot dogs and apple pie, I somehow decided to begin a huge undertaking - the conversion of my desk into a crafting space. Here's the thing: I have way too many t-shirts taking up space in my room, which I want to use for a t-shirt quilt, which would free up lots of floor and drawer room. Well, what's wrong with that, you ask? My intention for the new surface area is a crafting space. To make a t-shirt quilt. To make room for a crafting space. With which I will make a t-shirt quilt.

CATCH-22

Finding myself in a catch-22 today did not deter my room overhaul, but it has found me spending the night in my brother's room because of all the crud that is layered on my own bed. Not to worry, though; he's out camping somewhere in northern Alabama and won't know until he reads this. And then it will be too late to stop me.

Despite all of the dust and drudgery, I've found it very cathartic to go through and finally throw away many useless possessions to which I've been clinging for years. I'm a keeper, of everything, and it catches up to me in the form of uncontrollable clutter. It has also been fun to dig up old treasures and remember the stories attached to them, especially while reconfiguring all of my sewing materials. My grandma, Gran Jan, taught me how to sew a long, long time ago, when I would go to her house and spend hours cutting out patterns and stitching together ponchos and skirts for my American Girl dolls and sometimes getting in trouble when I left before collecting all of the straight pins that I had stuck in the orange couch. Gran Jan also gave me my first sewing kit, along with a sewing basket that belonged to my great-great-grandmother, both complete with needles and notions from way back when. Resurfacing all of those neat belongings and memories has been so much fun, even if it robs me of having any time to veg. And I can't wait to finally have a space devoted to crafting, as opposed to my former location in the dog's room.

(Hi Gran Jan! I hope you and Bub are having a fine time in Alaska!)

Buttons and Bows

Making bows is really easy. Embarrassingly easy. So, if you prefer to remain awestruck and thoroughly impressed by my craftiness I recommend that you not read any further.

Cut a long enough piece of ribbon and fold it in half. I don't exactly have a ruler, so I can't say how long my ribbons are. Err on the side of too long until you find a length you like, because you can always trim the ends if you need to.

Unfold the ribbon, then refold into a cancer awareness ribbon, keeping the crease in the middle of the loop.

Step Three: Pick up the ribbon by grabbing the 'x', then pull the crease down to the middle of the 'x'.

One at a time, take the tails of the ribbon and loop them over the top of the bow, gathering everything at the midpoint. It's up to you how wonky you want the bow to look - angling the tails of the ribbon creates different shapes. Play with it!

Now, take a needle and thread and make a running stitch up the middle of the bow to create those cool gathers. I used embroidery floss and it ended up being a great thing because...

...next you gather the ribbon by pulling the floss taut and wrap around and around the bow. Typically, you would tie another ribbon around the middle to finish off the bow, but the embroidery floss adds enough polish for me. (Disclaimer: grosgrain ribbon needed a little more coaxing to actually gather than did satin-y ribbon.)

Tie off the embroidery floss in the back - I honestly cannot say how best to do this. I think I did something different every single time - trim the ends, and primp the loops. Then grab your lighter and seal the ends by passing them through the flame. What?! I know, it sounds scary. The first time I did this was at home, and I stood over a sink full of water, ready to drop the bow before it was engulfed. But there's really nothing to worry about, as long as you keep your hands steady, light the flame, then slowly move the ribbon to where it just barely touches the flame and the frays melt away. Ta da! A bow.

I'm planning to hot glue these puppies onto some barrettes, but I've also just worn them by sticking a bobby pin through the embroidery floss loop. Happy Bowmaking!

Remedies

Because most of my weekend has been spent either doing homework or thinking about the homework that I have left to do, I found myself a little down in the dumps this afternoon. Here's my prescription for today's blues:

>Crafts! More on this later, I actually remembered to take some photos throughout in order to do a little show and tell.

>I finally started Crazy Love, by Francis Chan, after only a bajillion people have recommended it to me.

>I wanted coffee with dinner, so I drank coffee with dinner. And put hazelnut creamer in it. Mmm. (And I met some of my favorite people in the dining hall after preparing to eat alone. Always, always a happy surprise.)

>Hazelnut always makes me think of Russia, which always makes me happy.

>I put on my favorite White Stripes album (Icky Thump).

>I put on my diamond earrings with my t-shirt and athletic shorts. They make me feel fancy, special, and loved.

>I used my favorite nail file to file my nails. Yes, I have a favorite nail file. It has hula dancers on it and is from the Gap. I have no idea when/how I got it, but I'm positive I did not buy it. (Or steal it, since the previous sentence seems to imply that.)

>I pulled down my Physics binder from last year, hugged it, then used it on my homework. I just really love this binder and the memories attached to it.

>I wrote love notes on some of my friends' Facebook walls, and texted some others.

Yes, these things are a little strange. Seeing them written out in front of me makes me realize just how much so. I like being strange. It makes me happy. You should do things that make you happy, too.

Steady As a Beating Drum

So, I've fallen into this habit lately of listening to Disney music while I work on homework. It's by far the best idea I've had since coming to Tech. Not only do I get a wonderful sampling of Phil Collins and Alan Menken during my studying, it never fails that a song will stick in my head for the next day or two as well. You just can't beat Classic Disney in terms of animated movies or soundtracks. Too bad the man thinks that little girls no longer have any desire to become princesses and is nixing the typical Disney movie for the time being. (No joke-I read it here.) Isn't that just the saddest thing? Little girls "too cool" to want to be princesses? Well, if wanting to be a princess is wrong I don't ever, ever want to be right.

National Chocolate Cake Day

I checked my Twitter account last Thursday around 5:30 when I finished physics lab, lo and behold to find both Paula Deen and Real Simple Magazine touting National Chocolate Cake Day. I desperately wanted to bake, but images of the dorm kitchen and a sizable grocery list/bill deterred my thoughts. Until I got back to my room. And saw recipes on Real Simple. Chocolate. Earl. Grey. Cake. It was meant to be.

Since the sun was slowly fading behind the skyline, I powerwalked to Publix to purchase supplies. I needed staples as well as specifics; I have done zero baking since being at Tech (and I've missed it so!) But I was determined. Chocolate Cake Day would be celebrated.

Beating the butter, sugar, and eggs until fluffy proved difficult with only a tupperware container and fork.

6 teabags! Good thing I like Earl Grey an inordinate lot.

Melted chocolate. At this point, I'm beginning to get a little nervous about fitting everything in the same little bowl...

...good thing I have awesome neighbors, like Angel, who indulge my cake baking whims by providing mixing bowls.

Cooling time after 50-ish minutes in the oven - thanks again to Angel for oven mitts.

And thar she blows! Such a fun project, made even more fun by sharing with the hall. Here's the link to the recipe. It's downright tasty.

One Does Not Simply Rock into Mordor

Today marks the third day of classes being cancelled due to SNOW in Atlanta. In this city, everything is shut down by the ice. Barnes and Noble finally opened this morning, but for the most part Waffle House has been the only destination for days. What this means is that Molly has had way too much YouTubing time on her hands. And she has started talking in third person. That's beside the point, though, which is to share with the world my blessed YouTube findings. Some movie editing genius has set Lord of the Rings clips to every single Les Miserables song. Yes, you read that correctly. Holy mackerel mother of sweet pearl. And guess what. He has also set Lord of the Rings clips to Monty Python and the Holy Grail dialouge. Smoking criminy fire crums. Don't just take my word for it, though. Go to http://www.youtube.com/, type "JaguarJedi22", "LOTR Les Mis", "lotr <insert your favorite Les Mis song here>", "monty python + LOTR", etc. in the search bar, click, view, enjoy bliss and utter contentment with the world.

The I's Have It

I take back every single bellyaching comment I have ever made about having to practice piano.

I award Miss SB 10 points for being a champion Googler.

I declare tomorrow a national holiday because I'm finally getting an actual roommate.

I should be studying for my biology test.

I Goht Blistah's on Me Fingah's!

Only I would choose the busiest time of the year - Hell Week, Dead Week, Finals - to add yet another activity to my schedule. As of last week, I've been going to GT Crew practices. Wicked, right? I've never had any experience whatsoever with rowing. I figure there's no place like college to try new things. Apparently, it's a sport tailored to tall folk like myself. As an added bonus, and if you know anything about me this is an extra major super grande selling point, running is not required. Since it's the off season practices aren't too demanding of time, but so far Monday nights have been leaving me with aching muscles, sweaty socks, and blistered hands. You had better watch your back, Freshman Fifteen.

Ten points to anyone who can guess what movie the title references.

Fruits of My Free Time

My recent obsessions? Dipping Milano cookies into piping hot mugs of Earl Grey, watching Avatar the Last Airbender, and a little something called Face IN Hole...

And yes, I do realize that the Face IN Hole craze is about 2-3 years old by now. The trend might be gone, but the fun remains.

Course by Course

Last week, I registered for the classes I will be taking next semester (read, tons of calculus and physics). Here are the classes that I would rather be taking instead:

Photography
Embroidery
Reading for Pleasure
Make Your Own Monograms
Silversmithing and Jewelrymaking
The Art and Science of Baking
Musical Theatre Appreciation
Defense Against the Dark Arts
World Travel
How to Make High Quality Clothes
Texas History
Movie Trivia
Taste Testing Techniques
Ballet
Acquiring Class, Style, and Gentility
Grammar
Tolkien Languages
Literary Criticism
Potions
Hope Chest Filling
Lacemaking
Jedi Training
Hair Cutting

Apparency

You know you're not in Texas when the Pace is found on the "Ethnic Food" aisle.

You know you've crossed some sort of line when your new favorite section of Barnes and Noble is the Reference section.

The Hills are Alive

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,
New handheld vacuums and Korean tacos being bitten.
Packages from home that the mailman brings,
These are a few of my favorite things.

Talking to my best friends via messages on Facebook,
Drinking hot chocolate and being my own cook.
Wearing a charm bracelet and hand-me-down rings,
These are a few of my favorite things.

Bright game day dresses with gold satin sashes,
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes.
Walking through rain, in my head Gene Kelly sings,
These are a few of my favorite things.

When the room's hot,
When the homework builds,
When I'm feeling sad,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don't feel so bad!