BBA CHALLENGE: I finally got the book!

Meelyn, Aisling and I went to the public library today while Kieren was out on his first one hour drive with the instructor from the driving school. My sole purpose, other than getting another couple sacks of books, was to see if The Bread Baker's Apprentice had ever been returned (it's been, like, WEEKS) and if it had, to find it, and if it had not, to put a hold on it at the circulation desk.

Can you imagine my joy when I found that it was actually upstairs on a shelf? Waiting for me? And it truly was a glorious day, because the employee at the information desk not only looked the book up for me on her computer (the stupid computers that serve as the card catalog were down) and wrote down the call number on a piece of paper, she also said, "Oh, that's okay, hon. I'll run upstairs and get it for you" when I reached out to take the slip of paper from her hand. I know! The days of miracles are not yet over!

It was truly a delight to finally get my hands on this beautiful book. The photographs are gorgeous, the recipes look wonderful, and the text itself, written by author and baker Peter Reinhold, is very interesting. I sat all afternoon with my head buried in the book.

So! I think I may now be able to not only bake some bread, but also learn about bread. There was a piece at the beginning of the book when Peter was explaining how he knows when his students start to get it about bread: how they develop a feel for it and how they start to develop an instinct for what a recipe needs, not only because they know how each ingredient develops what will eventually be a perfect loaf, but also because they just know their bread.

I got a little frisson of pleasure when I read that, because I actually have started to develop that sense. Not because I understand how all the ingredients work together, you understand. And not even necessarily because I am one with the breadmaking process. No, I would say that I am more like one with my bread machine. I know from the way it sounds if the dough needs more water or more flour. I know -- because I've scribbled notes in the margins of my bread machine pamphlet cookbooks -- that I prefer 1 1/2 tablespoons of butter in the French bread recipe, rather than the 1 tablespoon that's called for. I've found out through trial and error how much flaxseed I can add to whole wheat bread to maintain a chewy texture and a nutty/seedy taste and how much makes the bread taste like something scraped off the forest floor, made of twigs, pine cones and dry leaves.

I'm really hoping that this knowledge will translate as I try to make bread the old fashioned way. And by "old fashioned" I mean "in bread pans in the oven" because? You didn't really think I was going to knead it myself did you? Eeeek!

I tried, but I can't stop laughing

You know that four book Twilight series about vampires that it seems that every girl in the United States has read except for Meelyn and Aisling because I think that Bella Swan is as dumb as a suitcase full of carrots and that the series author, Stephenie Meyer, hates women?

Yeah. That series. Even as I type these words, I am preparing for the onslaught of tearful hate mail that will come in from Twi-hard fans of the bedazzling Edward. I just don't understand love!!! I am too old!!! What Edward and Bella have is totally for realz!!! Somehow, whenever I write about this topic, they find me. All I can say is that I'm sorry, girls. I am! I wanted to like these books because I have been devoted to vampire lore all the way through the classic movies seen in my childhood with Frank Langella and Christopher Lee up to Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, although I still maintain I wish I'd never seen Bram Stoker's Dracula because it scared the bejabers out of me.

But I can't like the books. Since I have teenage girls, I tried. I really did! Blame Stephenie Meyer for creating a human female character whom I utterly despised, a vampire character who wearied me with his angst and freaked me out with his abusive tendencies, and a plot line that was so....so....eighteenth century...in its way of depicting girls as people who are just carried along by the whims of fate with absolutely no power and control over who they are and what kind of people they should be....AAAAAGGGGHHH. Haaaaaaate!!!!

Anyway, here's a set of cartoons from the brilliantly funny artistand humorist Lucy Knisley that you have to read if you've brushed up against these books in any way (I own all four.) The first is titled My Lost Weekend in the Meyer and accurately describes how easy it is to get sucked into the Twilight. The second cartoon is sixteen panels (scroll down from "My Lost Weekend") that will take you through all four books, if you're lucky enough not to have read them. Lucy Knisley, I've never heard of you until now, but you owe me a new keyboard, girl. My old one has coffee all over it.

Here's my review of Twilight, which I did last summer. I intended to review all four books here at InsomniMom, but they just suck so bad and irritate me so much, I just couldn't do it.

And here's my favorite Twilight movie spoof video from YouTube.

Why I am the best auntie, like, ever

Today was Kieren's first day of driver's ed classes, which commence at eight o'clock in the morning. Heavens to Betsy. Here I was thinking that eight o'clock ayem was just about daybreak, but it turns out some people go to work then. Or to class as the case may be.

You know, come September, I am really really going to regret this business of staying up until two or three o'clock in the morning and then sleeping until ten....

I didn't sleep until 10:00 this morning, because that's when I had to be at the driving school to pick Kieren up. He was already out of class, leaning against the building in a cool manner that I'm sure enhanced his hearthrobby essence with the girls in his class. Does he know how good looking he is?

Anyway, Kieren's had a lot of driving practice out at his grandpa and grandma's house, where they have this super-fun dirt track around their pond and a couple of go-karts. The problem is that he doesn't have a whole lot of experience with stoplights and stop signs and the like. Or, you know, turning corners on residential streets. Or for that matter, driving on streets that have parked cars on your right and oncoming traffic on your left.

So we spent an entire hour after his class today gaining that experience so that he wouldn't feel like a total piker on his first solo drive, which will be this coming Wednesday. We drove downtown, we drove out in the country, we drove in neighborhoods. And coming home, we drove on a state highway! He did a fantastic job, only terrifying me once (oncoming farm truck pulling trailer, narrow-ish bridge, way too close to the right-hand drop off into a fairly steepish sort of ditch) and scared me once (Anne's side mirror wasthisclose to the side mirrors of some parked cars along the side of the road.)

Tomorrow, we'll find a church parking lot and practice pulling into and backing out of parking places.

I have nerves of steel, man.

Happy 18th Anniversary to us

Eighteen years? Are you serious?

It is true. Eighteen years ago, at high noon -- although I think that's the time reserved for meetings at the O.K. Corral -- my husband and I got married, totally innocent of any idea of what marriage is all about. Which is like most first-time-marrieds in their twenties, I suppose. We got initiated into Life's Hard Club our very first year, with job changes and some personal crises, but we hung on. Two months before our second anniversary, Meelyn was born. Twenty-six months after that, Aisling came along. And even though times have been hard since then, I can't think of any other husband and father (or any daughters) who could have done it better.

Since Father's Day is coming up in a couple of weeks, I thought it would be nice to post this beautiful video montage of scenes from Father of the Bride, which was the summer blockbuster in 1991, the year my husband and I were married. The music is John Mayer's song "Daughters" and contains the following lines about a dad's relationship with his little girl that I find particularly moving as the cycle of life continues in my own family.

**********************

Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers and turn into mothers
So mothers be good to your daughters, too

On behalf of every man
looking out for every girl, remember
You are the guide and the weight of her world

So fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers be good to your daughters, too

**********************

It's a truly lovely song and a touching video of a little girl growing up in front of her father's eyes, from jump ropes to braces, from a driver's license to a marriage license; from a graduation gown to a wedding gown...to a hospital gown, as she births her first baby.

My pulled-pork sandwiches may be famous!

Today I was surfing aimlessly around on the internet and I discovered something that made me smile: My recipe for slow-cooker pulled pork sandwiches has been linked to from a blog called Kathy Maister's Start Cooking.com. She included a link to my recipe from a page called Start the Party With A Bang!, which is a guide to planning a Fourth of July picnic. Scroll down to "Main Courses" and click on the link that reads "Pulled Pork" and you'll find yourself back at InsomniMom.

Thanks very much for that, Kathy! I hope that any of your readers who decide to make those pulled pork sandwiches will enjoy them - we think they're fabulous.

I've browsed around StartCooking.com's website and it is a real gold mine of information for inexperienced cooks. There are tons of how-to videos to teach foodie newbies kitchen basics like how to cook corn on the cob, asparagus, pork roast and the like, along with videos that can guide a busy person through actual recipes. What a marvelous idea! How's come other people always think of this stuff before I do?

So You Think You Can Dance? Season 5 - Las Vegas Top 20

After Wednesday night's confusing hash of a second auditions show at Planet Hollywood in Las Vegas, I felt we all deserved something a little less frazzled. Because heaven knows the Top 20 picks are tense enough without having to deal with a bunch of goofy stuff from the producers.

Thankfully, we got a pretty straightforward evening with a few surprises, some pleasant, some unpleasant.

Things opened up right away with Janette, a spunky, feisty dancer who confided that this has been just about her most stressful week ever, coming right on top of her boyfriend of four years breaking up with her, and the car wreck she was in, not to mention having to move back in with her mom. Yikes. She could use some good news, methinks. And the news is good! She's made it into the Top 20! Janette starts babbling her thanks, mentioning the boyfriend and the break up, until she finally gets a grip and goes off to jump through the backstage curtain shrieking, "I'm in!"

The next girl, Diana, wasn't so fortunate, in spite of the fact that she was carrying her lucky monkey. For a brief moment, it seems like she's going to be one of the chosen ones, but then she's let down with a bump. Tears commence to fall and she leaves the stage whimpering. I hate it when they do that - makes me cry, too.

Now we see our first boy, an energetic Vitolio, who informs us that he's so nervous, he's been having "diarrhea moments." TMI, Vittolio! I would rather picture you executing athletic dance moves than crouching over a toilet with a pained expression on your face. Vitolio is from Haiti, and was raised by his grandmother until she grew too poor to support him and his brother. He spent the remainder of his childhood in an orphanage, and somehow got to the United States and learned to dance and ended up here in Las Vegas...how? I don't know, but I assume that we'll find out at some point. Because he made the Top 20!

After Vitolio makes a run for the men's room, a montage of disappointed dancers begins to roll and Cat says on a voice over that for the next half hour, things are very bad. The judges cite the need for more dance experience, more training. Cat busies herself commiserating with the Unchosen Ones, hugging and comforting and encouraging them to keep their chins up. She's such a lovely girl.

Next up is Kayla, she of the adorable and supportive Nana and Papaw. It's Mia's turn to be the one to break the news, so she starts in on how much she loves male dancers, how she just really connects with them (I just bet she does. Or at least tries) and she's saying all this about men and their consummate danciness while Kayla is patiently standing there thinking, "What is this COW rambling on and on about?" Oh, wait. That's what I was thinking. Finally, Mia manages to grope her way to her point, which is that she, Mia, really feels connected to Kayla, even though Kayla is not a man. Errrmm....Credit to Kayla for not running screaming from the auditorium: she has obviously sensed that if she flees, Mia might chase her down. Mia, with what is supposed to be a friendly smile but which looks more like the bared fangs of a jackal, says she "can't wait" for Kayla to be a part of the show; she part of the Top 20. Okay! (Kayla, watch your back, hon.)

Kapono comes before the judges next, and for the first time, I note that he's done something to that whacky hair because now it doesn't look like Mia's anymore. We see a brief film clip of him making an obsessive list, and I really wish the producers would cut it out, because Kapono is so nervous and trying to be so bright and cheerful for the camera, he's coming off looking like a bit of a head case. "I make lists!" he squeaks, holding up a piece of paper with notations on it preceded by Sharpie-drawn check-off boxes. One of the things on the list is "breathe." Another is "get iPod." A third reads "Make the Top 20." Much more of this, and the number one item on my check-off list is going to be "Buy vodka." Anyway, the judges thank Kapono for being so teachable. They say he's done everything they suggested he do to make himself a better dancer. He's a worker! And a nice kid, but really high-strung right now. I hope he calms down. He makes the Top 20 and I am happy for him.

Time for another montage, this time of people getting through to the Top 20. My notes from last night include these names: Paris, Gigi, Ade, Karla and Jonathan. A later list reveals that no Gigi made it to the Top 20, or perhaps was even on this show. Gigi, where did I come up with that name? I guess it doesn't matter, because I barely know any of these people. Producers, NO MORE DAVID SOLLER.

It's time for Natalie Reid's friend Brandon to take the stage and he comes out with such a hopeful look on his face, my heart just contracts. It's Mia's turn to break the news again, and only heaven knows why she was chosen to do so, because she immediately bursts into a personal attack: She "can't stand" his attitude and his "fake smile" and his dancing "annoys the [bleep] out of her." Throughout this whole thing, Brandon is still standing there, his smile gradually fading while he attempts to remain respectful, because after all, this person is one of the ones who holds his future in her hands. I am just....horrified. I can't remember when I've ever seen anything so painful. Oh, wait, yes I do. It was in Season 4 when Mia unleashed on Kherington after the Viennese waltz choreographed by Jean-Marc.

Meds check, Mia!

Finally, Debbie Allen speaks up. Or tries to anyway, because Mia just boosts the volume to continue her diatribe. Nigel finally interrupts and tells Mia she's said her piece, and now it's time to let someone else talk. Mia subsides into quiet snarls after shooting Nigel a look of death. Debbie is all about the affirmations, telling Brandon that he's a beautiful dancer, but then Lil C chimes in and says he personally doesn't know what all the Brandon hype is about.

It's at this point in the drama when Mary Murphy -- who tearfully said during the city auditions that she thought she'd "just die" if Brandon didn't make the Top 20 this season -- rose up in high dudgeon and, in a voice that was trembling with rage, says that she has HAD ENOUGH. She goes on to say that the other judges' criticisms of him are ridiculous and that she is not going to listen to any more of this crap. He is not cocky! Mary says. And I don't know, but I'm so used to Mary and her big smile that I am, like, afraid of her right now. Although I am TOTALLY behind her. Mia is way out of line and back to being her old nasty, hag-like self.

S0mehow, things get smoothed down and Nigel tells Brandon, whom I deeply admire for his poise under pressure, that he has made it into the Top 20. All the judges clap except for Mia, who sits like a toad on a stone, jaw thrust out, eyes glittering. "What do you think it will be like when we're in a room together?" she asks Brandon in a dangerous voice. I'd be hard pressed at this point to say just how much I dislike her.

Brandon, who still somehow appears calm and unflustered, says something like, "It'll be the bomb." I didn't quite catch it. The judges all seem to think he's scored, so they all clap and cheer. Even Mia claps. I wish he'd said something more like, "I could fell you with one kick from my well-muscled left leg, old woman, so be nice to me or be prepared to eat some flooring," but I admit that that wouldn't be diplomatic.

Yeeeesh. And Vitolio thought that he was having a diarrhea moment!

After we've all had a chance to catch our breath -- and I assume when the medics have had a chance to subdue Mia with some kind of horse tranquilizer -- the process continues with Tony. Tony is the guy that I couldn't remember from Wednesday's show, and frankly, I can see why he slipped my mind. He danced a contemporary piece to "Somebody's Watching Me" with Nigel's picture in a briefcase, his suit jacket, his newspaper, but frankly, it was too gimmicky for me to appreciate and I didn't see that much actual dancing. Although I do credit him with a clever sense of humor. In the review I posed yesterday, Tony was the kid who with a bad case of the whim-whams: he could not get a grip. Nigel tells a quivering Tony that his dance technique is not as strong as it should be, but that he's in the Top 20 anyway. Hmmm. Tony smiles and shouts out a big, "YESSSSSS!" which makes me feel better about his mental state.

New montage of people making it! Max (Faina's partner), Caitlin, Melissa (the "naughty ballerina") and Jason are through to the Top 20.

Next up is Ashley. It's her fourth time auditioning, poor girl. Mary says she's a "fighter." The rest of the judges say that she has improved a lot. She makes the Top 20 and is understandably delirious with happiness. Awww!

Randi comes onstage next, and once again, we have to hear from Mia. WHERE IS SONYA?! Mia bloviates on and on about Randi's committment to her unitards as the audience is shown a montage of Randi sporting several different unitards and it is all just more unitarded than you can possibly imagine, especially with the judges braying with laughter in the background like donkeys. Randi makes the Top 20 and presumably goes off to do a wardrobe check.

Professional ballet dancer Alex comes out next and I am puzzled by his whole deal. The judges want him to be in the Top 20, but there's the small matter of Alex's being under contract to the Miami City Ballet for their upcoming season. Oops. Nigel says that he has contacted the MCB to see if Alex can be released from the contract, but that the answer was no. Alex looks crushed, but I don't get it: he knew he was under contract, so what did he think was going to happen if he was chosen for SYTYCD? The judges wish him well and Debbie is encouraging as always. He's invited to come back when his contract is up. He leaves, and I feel sorry for him. Shame.

After the break, another montage, this time of people being cut. Ricky Sun, partner to the sassy Asuka, goes home. Bummer.

Next up is Phillip Chbeeb and I am worried for him. He is so adorable. Phillip tells the judges that this week has been stressful, but that he has enjoyed it anyway. Adam Shankman says that Phillip has improved and grown over the week and that the judges can see that he really loves dancing; all dancing, not just his own genre. Phillip agrees and Adam tells him he's made it to the Top 20. Phillip and I are both so very happy!

We're now down to the last two girls: a contemporary dancer named Deena and International Latin ballroom dancer, Asuka. To me, there's no question of who's in the Top 20 and who's on the next flight back home and I'm right. Asuka gives the devastated Deena a brief hug before going all "yippeeeeeeeeee!!!!" There's something about that girl that bugs me. She seems a little too certain of her own sexiness. I find that off-putting, but in order to avoid any uncomfortable comparisons to Mia, I'll keep my thoughts on this to myself for now.

Last but not least are the Brothers Kasprzak, and I don't know about anyone else, but I feel very maniplulated by the fact that they're left to the last, together. Producers, you are jerks. This was a nasty thing to do to these two very nice guys. I hate it when television pits two kindhearted people against each other. Fortunately, Evan and Ryan are supportive of each other no matter what and hug one another and cry manly tears until I think I'm going to just plotz.

Evan is the brother who makes the Top 20. I could have gone with either one, but I did like Evan's Fred Astaire-like dance better, so all is good. When the brothers get backstage and go through the curtain, Ryan gives Evan one last hug and gives him a gentle shove toward the excited throng of dancers so that he can begin celebrating his victory. Ryan's eyes meet the camera for one fleeting glance and the disappointment is evident, but he smiles a crooked little grin and moves on out of camera range. Well done, Ryan. If there was a show called So You Think You Can Act Like A Person of Sterling Character, you would win it.

And that wraps up the Top 20 show! Here they are, in alphabetical order:

Ade, Ashley, Asuka, Brandon, Caitlin, Evan, Janette, Jason, Jeanine, Jonathan, Karla, Kupono, Max, Melissa, Paris, Phillip, Randi, Tony and Vitolio.

So You Think You Can Dance? Season 5 - Las Vegas 2nd auditions

"I love cutting people," Mia growls at the assembled dancers trembling on the stage, glaring at them over the rims of her ugly glasses, her hair standing straight up on end like something from A Flock of Seagulls. "I love cutting because I love seeing people who aren't good at what they do go home."

Oh-kay! Well! Looks like it's gonna be a fun time in Las Vegas!

Last night's show highlighted the fact that we have seen very, very few of the dancers who made it through to the one hundred seventy-eight nervous people assembled before us. Just a thought: maybe if the producers had wasted less time last week on David Soller, his mother and that other talentless guy, we could have seen more people who have the real thing? I don't know. Anyway, five minutes into the show, people are already passing by in blur. There's someone I sort of remember, although her name escapes me. And he looks familiar, but no....no. I am just as bewildered as some of the dancers seem to be.

The only people I know for sure are the judges, that panel of experts sitting at a long desk in front of the stage: Nigel Lythgoe, Mary Murphy, Mia Michaels, Debbie Allen, Adam Shankman, Lil C. Thank goodness Tyce Diorio has been locked into a supply closet somewhere in the hotel. Tabitha and Napoleon aren't there; I'm sure they're out in Las Vegas somewhere being about a thousand times better looking than the rest of us, and I don't mind that because they're both so nice. Where is Sonya Tayeh? Can we trade her for Mia?

What the dancers are going to do is this: They're going to dance in a number of different styles, with dancers being cut after each round. That seems relatively straightforward, doesn't it? Not confusing at all! Just you wait! This show is a strange mish-mash of events and I can't keep everything straight. If I'm confused by what's going on, sitting there on the couch with my popcorn, imagine how the dancers must feel. Choreography here and there, small groups, more choreography in different styles, people being told they are the worst dancers to ever grow legs in a womb, but then being told that they can dance for their lives? I don't get it.

Not necessarily in this order, the dancers have to learn the moves to a jazz piece choreographed by Sonya. There she is, at last! TabiNapo choreograph a hip-hop routine; Jean-Marc Genereaux and France do a ballroom piece. Mia does some contemporary choreography that nearly brings people to tears, and someone lets Tyce out of the supply closet so that he can do two Broadway pieces for the guys and the girls separately, set to music from West Side Story. Plus there's the group dancing thing where all the dancers are split into groups of six, pick a music CD out of a box that our beloved Cat Deeley is holding aloft, and then have all night long to choreograph their own bit.

Looks like a tough few days ahead for the dancers.

Now I come to a difficult part of this review, because I can't even pretend to know the names of all these people. All I can say is this: some people from the city auditions that we really liked were unmercifully cut in Day 1 and Day 2, including Natalie Reid. Sad and shocking! Megan Kinney hugs her sister Caitlin goodbye and trudges off to the airport (but wait -- I just realized that happened on Day 3!) Philip's girlfriend, Ariel Coker, is sent home and it's just awful. Sammy Ramirez of the "hair choreography" leaves the hotel, still smiling that awesome smile. Tap-dancing Silky heads home on Day 3. I'm glad I don't have Cat's job, or I'd probably be outside the hotel telling everyone that the judges suck swamp water and getting my butt fired.

At the end of Day 2, the small groups are formed and Cat lets them choose their CDs. This is generally an interesting night as viewers watch the dancers tryin to pull together some kind of choreography that won't stink the place up. There are usually some clashing egos somewhere along the line, along with a couple of dancers who feel that they could best pull a routine together by going upstairs to bed. THAT never sets well, let me tell you. As you could imagine. Strangely, we're shown very little of this kind of thing, which is a departure from past seasons, which reveled in the petty jealousies, hurt feelings and the inexplicable need for a little shut-eye.

"A lot of people think that today doesn't mean anything," Nigel says preachily on the third morning, when all the small groups are going to be doing their thing. This kind of statement makes me crazy. The remaining dancers have seen people being cut left, right and center during the different styles in the past couple of days. Tension is running high as time draws short. Why, Nigel, would any of these people thing that today doesn't mean anything? Sheeeesh.

The different groups get up to perform, nearly all of them to annoying music that just jars me with its silliness. I think the judges do this on purpose. If they gave the dancers good music, it would be easier to choreograph a good routine, right? So if you can choreograph a good routin to BAD music, then that would be a sign of awesomeness that would shine through the heavens. Evidently not. People are cut and go home.

Now it's finally time for Mia's choreography, which just about makes people cry. "Do not give me empty steps, because that's when my horns will come out!" she drill-sergeants at them, stomping around the stage. Oh, so that's why she's got the crazy hair: to hide the horns. Glad we've got that cleared up.

Evan and Ryan Kasprzak are still waiting to see if they're through Mia's choreography, and I think they look fabulous, but then I thought Natalie Reid was great, and she was sent packing. I also like Caitlin Kinney's dance-for-her-life solo, but the judges were all up in her stuff for doing an "old-fashioned" contemporary dance, whereas Mia's choreography was "of this time"? Huh? You'd have thought that Caitlin was out there on the stage, leaping around while wearing hoop skirts and a bonnet. Caitlin, I thought you were wonderful. The judges send her on through to the next round, leaving her very grateful and me more confused than ever.

Then there's a guy named Tony Bellissimo who has been featured in just about every segment of the show. Not that I'm complaining: he's a good dancer and did a clever solo, but where did he spring from? At any rate, Tony starts to fall to pieces emotionally as the show progresses: it's like the producers have given us a window into his private nervous breakdown. Is Pfizer, the manufacturer of anti-anxiety medication Xanax, a sponsor of this episode?

Tony does Mia's choreography and Debbie calls him forward on the stage afterwards and tells him that he's really let them down. Tony bursts into tears. Then he has to dance for his life, and the judges tell him his solo wasn't that great, but they're going to pass him on because they like him. Wha-? If they were going to send him through because he was likeable, why did he have to dance? Couldn't he have just given all the judges a hug? Tony cries through the whole thing. He is one raw nerve. As am I.

This brings us to Tyce's West Side Story choreography. Thankfully, he's so busy bossing everyone around and doing those Jets/Sharks finger snaps that he has little time left over to be annoying. The girls dance first while the boys lounge poolside, and then the boys dance while the girls ditto. Things are narrowed down still further, but at least the West Side Story music is cheerful and familiar.

This Las Vegas episode ends with sixteen boys and sixteen girls, all of whom are to dance a solo which will be the final criterion by which they are judged. We're left waiting to see which twelve will be cut in Thursday's one hour show.

TUESDAYS WITH DORIE (In spirit, with the girls) -- Cinnamon Squares

Kayte happened to mention to me last week that this week's Tuesdays with Dorie baking assignment was a recipe called "Cinnamon Squares." She also said that they were very easy. Both of these things piqued my interest, so I grabbed my copy of Baking: From My Home to Yours, which is always nearby, and looked up the recipe.

I couldn't find it. I went through every single cookie recipe Dorie Greenspan listed in that enormous book. Believe me, there are a lot of them. A lot. I sat, nonplussed, with the book in my lap on the last page of the Cookies section, wondering what the deal was. Suddenly, an epiphany! Perhaps the Cinnamon Squares foretold by Kayte -- those fragrant, geometrically augmented bits of legend -- were not cookies but some other type of dessert!

It's really hard to surpass the dynamic energy that my brain generates. I should be powering New York City. I'm just saying.

I found Cinnamon Squares on pages 210-211 in the cake section of the book (with a nice photograph of the finished product) and was happy to discover that it was easy, something the girls could whip up without too much fuss, either with the recipe or each other. Since I'm still dragging around like a basket of wet washing, I decided that I would sit at the kitchen table and supervise, so after assembling all the ingredients on the counter, I wearily slumped into a chair and called the girls.

"GIRRRRRRRRRRRLLLLSSSSSS!!!!" I screamed, throwing my head back and hoping my voice would carry upstairs. Incidentally, that used up my last available bit of physical energy for the day. Lucky for me I've still got that brain thing going, you know what I'm sayin'.

Meelyn and Aisling came into the kitchen and were unenthusiastic at the news that they were going to get the opportunity to bake a cake while I bossed them around.

"Really, you're baking the cake," Meelyn pointed out. "We're just serving as your arms."

"Kind of like Rasputin and Czar Nicholas," I said tartly.

Both girls looked at me, then looked at each other. "Sometimes I just don't get you," Aisling sighed.

The cake batter went together very easily. Cinnamon Squares have a ribbon of shaved chocolate and ground cinnamon that threads it way through the batter, making for a very nice-looking little cake. Baked in a 8x8 pan and cut into nine pieces, it's a good size for a family, giving everyone a small portion for tonight's dessert and another portion for tomorrow night's dessert, with one piece left over for whoever in the house is suffering from pneumonia.

This cake is topped with a very simple mixture of shaved bittersweet chocolate mixed with butter. Yup, that's it: You melt the chocolate and butter together in a double boiler, stirring them until they're thicky, shiny and spreadable. Then you spread it on the cake and allow it to harden -- easy peasy.

However!

My final thought on this cake is that I'm not certain I'm loving the combination of chocolate and cinnamon all that much. Since Dorie encourages her readers to play around with her recipes, I'm thinking that I'd like the girls to make this again, taking out the shaved chocolate and the espresso powder that goes in the ribbon. We couldn't taste the espresso anyway, we found. I think I'd double the cinnamon-sugar mixture instead. And then I'd top it with good, old-fashioned vanilla buttercream frosting. That's so easy to make, and I think it would complement the cinnamony, buttery flavor of this nice little cake much better.

I do highly recommend this cookbook. It's fun to read and the recipes, for the most part, are so simple, which makes baking a real pleasure.

Sobering

The weather here in central Indiana today is ridiculous - about 57^o at a time of year that we usually see about 82^o and rain just weeping down, like, ALL DAY. It was a good day to be in bed with the blankets all snuggled up around one's head, whacked out on different medications for what Aisling referred to yesterday as my "ammonia."

When I woke up at 3:00 p.m., I could hear rain just hurtling onto the house, so I opened the blind on the south side of my bedroom window, the one that faces our street. Not only did I see the unwelcome rain I'd been expecting, I also saw something else even less pleasant: a large For Sale sign in our neighbor's front yard, taking the place of their tasteful business sign advertising their photography studio.

This affected me like a karate chop to the solar plexus. Those neighbors have been the friendly and reliable type, always willing to allow our company to park in their large parking area. They've always been so proud of their house, too; it's a magnificent example of a Craftsman style bungalow, super-sized - I estimate it at about 4,000 square feet. The house was designed by a student of Frank Lloyd Wright's in the late nineteen-teens (one of two in our city) and it is one of the newer gems of our historic neighborhood.

They raised their daughter in that house; I believe she's probably about twenty-eight years old now, and they home schooled her at a time when hardly anyone had ever heard of home schooling. The studio took up most of the downstairs in the house and husband, wife and daughter lived in the spacious upstairs.

They talked to me lovingly once about all their gorgeous built-ins, so popular in that Arts & Crafts style, and all their carefully tended floors, and their windows. The windows in that house are all hand-blown glass, and since our neighborhood is an historic preservation, if a window gets broken, it can't be replaced by regular glass that you can get from one of the several glaziers in the city: it can only be replaced by another piece of hand-blown glass. Spendy!

"It's a terrible pain," the husband told me once, looking fondly at the house the same way I look at Hershey and Wimzie. "But it's worth it because we love it."

And now, that For Sale sign, sitting there tauntingly in their yard, all red and white. Their business sign, gone. Their house, disconsolate with its dripping eaves and lightless windows.

I closed the window blind and turned away. I hope they decided to sell their house and close their business because they're ready to move on to a new stage of life -- maybe to move closer to their daughter and be hands-on grandparents -- and not because they had to.

BBA CHALLENGE: A setback and a move forward

If, by chance, you are a person involved with the bread baking challenge offered by Nicole Hamaker of Pinch My Salt, and you have been checking here to see how the bread is turning out in my kitchen, you have undoubtedly been left with the impression that I am either a person with a bad attitude about bread or maybe that I am the laziest person in the world. Or perhaps that I am a disgruntled and uninspired dough-kneader. Or that my arms suddenly fell off, I don't know.

At any rate, you might have noticed that I haven't posted a bread recipe ever since the first week's Anadama bread.

Here's the thing: We don't have any money, so I can't afford to buy the book, which is The Bread Baker's Apprentice by Peter Reinhart. And my local library does have a copy, but the person who checked it out has not brought it back yet and even renewed it for another month when it recently came due. I believe she must be clutching it to her chest in her warm, bread-scented kitchen and cackling wickedly because she can see on the library's website that I have placed a hold on the book and am most urgently waiting for a call from the circulation desk. Whoever she is, she is really hurting my feelings.

The book is not expensive, so I think I may buy it with my birthday money at the end of June, and then join Kayte and a group of her friends as they bake their way through Peter's book at a slower pace. Nicole has been extremely understanding of the demands of everyone's schedule, so the BBA Challenge group is very loosely formed: there are no deadlines, no pictures to post, no quotas to meet. So I feel that I can just jump back in and start baking when things sort themselves out around here.

In the meantime, Kayte forwarded a recipe for Pane di Pasta Tenera Condita (Italian Knot Bread) that a friend of hers formatted into a Word document with pictures and everything. Everything I would need to bake this lovely bread! Except, maybe, for a CLUE. Because the recipe is all grammy and millilitery and asking me for things like 0.88 ounces of honey and then there's this little paragraph, which made me temporarily black out:

30 g fresh yeast (this is what I found: 18 grams of fresh yeast = 7-10 grams of active dry yeast = about 4-6 grams of instant yeast, I don't dare calculate it right now.)

What does that even mean?! Is it in English? Is Kayte trying to punk me? Because all I want to know is this: Can I just rip open a little packet of Fleishmann's yeast and dump it into the lukewarm water or not?

When I got to the instruction which read "add 450-550 ml/ 1,9-2,3 cup water, finger warm," I began to suck the ends of my hair and mutter, like Goldie Hawn in Overboard, "Buh buh buh-buh-buh...."

This recipe, thank heaven, is not part of the actual BBA Challenge curriculum and it's a good thing because I honestly don't think I can do it. I like my cooking to be a more organic sort of experience involving regular measuring cups and measuring spoons and my favorite mixing bowl. I don't want to have to haul out the digital scale I used to use for soapmaking. That sucks all the fun right out of it for me, I find, and I think I'll do better with simpler recipes. I'm sure my results won't be as spectacular, but really, all I ask of my bread is that my family can place some deli turkey on its snowy white breast, or spread some good butter on it, and eat it with the honesty and total lack of imagination that behooves our solid peasant stock.

I'm going to check around on the internet and see if I can find a recipe for Greek celebration bread, which was the second assignment in the BBA Challenge. Obviously, it won't be Peter Reinhart's recipe, but at least I'll be able to say that I'm doing something instead of sitting here feeling intimidated by Italian bread.

So You Think You Can Dance? Season 4 Chbeeb/Muraine Pop-Off

I was so pleased to find this SYTYCD on YouTube! This good-natured competition between poppers Philip Chbeeb and Robert Muraine comes from the Season 4 finale of So You Think You Can Dance and it really shows what this dance style is all about.

Popping isn't beautiful and it's not what I'd call graceful, but it is fascinating to watch: how do they do that? That thing with their fingers? And the one where their arms look like garden hoses?

The dance portion of this video is just over four minutes long; everything else is the judges talking to Philip and Robert.

Hitch in my git-along

You know that cold I've been having?

Well, I kept getting sicker and sicker. So through some really top-flight internet research on many different medical sites, I was able to narrow my symptoms down between two illnesses: swine flu and meningitis. Look, I'm just saying....if God formed you into a certain kind of worry-wart person with a slant towards hypochondria, you might as well play to your strengths. Am I right?

Am I?

My family didn't think so. The girls each just gave me a level look, while my husband and father laughed at me and my mother scolded me like a six-year-old. They have no respect for my God-given personality.

But later that night, I SHOWED THEM, I DID! I got to the point where I couldn't draw a deep breath and I was beginning to see those little electric gnats that float around your head when you're getting ready to faint? And I felt weak and dizzy?

SWINE FLU SYMPTOMS, I typed into Google. MENINGITIS SYMPTOMS. Despite the fact that my mother had exhorted me through a combination of prayer and nagging to stay away from the computer. I felt guilty. And also very, very hot. And achey. And just wrong.

I clicked on a link. "If you are experiencing difficulty breathing, seek medical attention immediately," I read. And you know, it's the funniest thing, but when you're having trouble breathing and you read that you should seek medical attention if you're having trouble breathing, all of a sudden, you're having even MORE trouble breathing. Funny how that works out!

"I need to go to urgent care," I said to my husband, rising unsteadily from my desk chair. It was about 9:00 p.m. He sighed in resignation and tore himself away from the baseball scores as I coughed my way through the house and out into the van.

Our conversation on the way across town to the urgent care center went like this, with me gasping out my words like the dying gunshot hero in a cowboy movie:

"I'm...sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry. You're sick."

"I know, but...I feel...bad."

"I know."

"I mean, I feel bad...physically, but I also....feel bad, like, emotionally.....Or maybe....spiritually."

"I know."

"I feel....bad emotionally because....I know this will be....expensive."

"That doesn't matter. You're sick."

"And I...feel bad that I.....got back on the computer....to check my....symptoms after Mom told me not to. You know, spiritually....bad."

He raised one eyebrow. "How old are you? Look, you'd better just try not to talk, with all that coughing and fish-out-of-water business and everything."

Then it was MY turn to raise one eyebrow. Not talk?!? As if!

When we got to the urgent care center, it was closed of course, having shut its doors for the night a mere twenty minutes before we arrived. So we drove back across town to the hospital that is about six blocks away from our home, calling the girls to tell them where we were.

Just as I was getting ready to call them, my husband's phone rang. It was Meelyn. "Hello? Uh-huh....Uh, no, I don't hear them....Wait. Oh, crap, now I do...."

Yup, it was the tornado sirens, shrieking fiercely. As we drove along a residential street toward the hospital, we saw all the homeowners coming out of their houses to stand on their front porches and peer quizzically up at the dark sky. This is how we handle tornado warnings in Indiana: folks in some states head for the basement, but those of us in the Hoosier state go outside and holler across the street to the neighbors, "DO YOU SEE ANYTHING FROM OVER YOUR WAY?"

"Drop....me off....at the ER entrance...." I wheezed frantically. "Then go....get the....girls!"

My husband immediately saw the soundness of this plan, which is something he isn't often wont to do with my suggestions, proposals or outright commands. He drove me up to the entrance, helped me out and gave me a quick hug and said, "I'll be back in less than ten minutes."

I wobbled into the ER's reception area, whey-faced and quivery, and went up to the front desk, where I had to give my name, address, telephone number and state the reason I was there. The last time I showed up in an emergency room and was asked to give that information, I was very pregnant with Aisling and experiencing contractions about four minutes apart, so consuming that I couldn't speak and had to hold onto the furniture in order to cross the room. That clerk looked at me and inquired, "So you're here for maternity?" after I panted out "I'm in labor."

It took all the forebearance I possessed not to yell the thing about poo and Sherlock at that clerk. This clerk, however, was much more on the ball and asked nicely, "Can we get you a wheelchair?" and she and the triage nurse sitting there did not draw back when I told them my symptoms. While my data was being entered into the computer system, I did wander over to a brightly-colored poster with information about the swine flu on it, but the nurse, who must know my mother, came over to me and said, "Now, now! Come with me."

Two hours later, after an EKG and a chest x-ray and a hospital nightie that didn't really fit all that well, I was diagnosed with double pneumonia. The doctor, who was just lovely, said that he believed it could be treated at home, but if I experienced any more trouble breathing, I needed to come back right away to be admitted. Eeek!!!

I was commanded to go home and stay either on the sofa or in the bed until Thursday, which means that I won't be able to teach the very last Shakespeare class of the semester. Henry V has not been my favorite play by a long shot, but still...We call the last day of class the "wrap party" and we always have great snacks and talk about the different versions of the play we've seen. And we were going to talk about what's coming up the next semester, and about how later this summer we're going to go to the Frazier International History Museum in Louisville, Kentucky. So it was going to be fun, and I'm kind of sad to miss it.

However. I'd much rather be at my home resting than in the hospital resting, so I think I'll be able to deal with it. I'm doing such a good job with the resting that it has taken me six hours to write this post -- six hours and three naps. Summer vacation has begun!