Mix tape lovin’

I’m getting ready to make a mix CD for a friend’s project — 32 people are exchanging mixes and blogging about the experience over several months — which has got me thinking about some of my favorite mixes of years past.

From Leandroid's Flickr photostream

There’s such a soul-baring quality to a making a mix, no matter who it’s for or what’s the occasion. My first mix tapes were born of hours spent listening to the radio, waiting for my favorite Top 40 songs to air. I’d hover over the record key on my boombox, trying to capture the complete introduction to “Truly, Madly, Deeply” without catching the radio station’s bump. Those recordings combined with songs from my sister’s and my (small) CD collection had to be just right. Otherwise, there’d be no way we could convince our parents to actually play the tape in the car during road trips.

Then followed mixtapes for my first car, a ’92 Plymouth Sundance that lacked many of the finer things in life, including a CD player. And mixes to listen to before school, mixes to study to, mixes for parties.

All leading up to one late night my junior year of college. I was IMing a certain senior named Sam, probably instead of working on homework. He was the only friend I had with a sleep schedule almost as screwed up as mine, so we spent a lot of late nights sending messages back and forth. Somehow “How’s it going?” turned into a debate on how society influenced musicians and whether historical context was important when assessing music. I, the history major, somehow pinned the entire conversation onto jazz, the one musical genre he wasn’t familiar with. So I offered to make him a CD of some of my favorites.

I carefully picked some tracks, wrote down the title, artist and a little of the history behind each song. In return, he handed me a CD and typed document. No track names, but a release year and paragraph about each song.

The documentation

So what does a girl do when a boy makes her a mix tape? Let’s just say that after listening to it a few times, I called in the big guns, driving around town with my two best friends and getting their take on the mix’s meaning.

To me, the songs were mostly unknown, but I quickly found a few new favorites. I liked that a lot of the songs really were old — again, it all appealed to the history nerd in me. But the girls, instantly and a little shrilly, began telling me I had completely missed the point. “They’re all love songs!” became the refrain of the night.

So I began to mull over the idea that maybe Sam wasn’t just that friend I talked to late at night when I was avoiding a research paper. After more than two years of dating, he continues to swear he had no ulterior motives. It’s true that it’s a CD full of love songs, and some really sappy ones at that. But now I know that one’s from the soundtrack of his dad’s favorite movie. Another was on a 45 in the jukebox that sits in his grandparents’ basement. The songs, on literal interpretation, made me wonder if he was interested in me. And he was, but not in a way that he wanted to slap a bunch of romantic music together to woo me. Instead, they were the songs he grew up with, the songs that stuck with him beyond a radio-friendly single on heavy rotation or a studying anthem. In a way, he burned me a copy of his soundtrack.

And if that’s not a good basis for a relationship, I don’t know what is.

Summer’s over

The sun has set on Labor Day, so it’s more or less official. Not that Southern California is expecting cold weather anytime soon, but the lazy mindset of the season is gone. So as the neighborhood kids get ready to start a new school year, I’m thinking about new goals and projects to stay busy with.

• Learn to play one song on the guitar
• Organize my money enough that I can start a Europe vacation and a piano fund
• Reinstate craft hour for things like painting my dresser, sewing those scarves into pillows, making the corkboard map
• and, of course, write. That one’s easy at least.

So long, summer!

Other people’s interesting lives

I’m probably never going to move to Paris or serve as a government spy, and that’s why I like reading biographies and memoirs. They let you look into a world you’d never otherwise see — and not just any world, but reality.

Jezebel posted a great collection of celebrity bios that I’ve now added to my running list of books to read. I think I’ll start with Rue McClanahan’s, and Victoria Beckham’s will probably be next. To their list, I’d like to submit “Lady Sings the Blues” by Billie Holiday, “Love is a Mixtape” by Rob Sheffield and “My Life in France” by Julia Child.

I guess it’s the same appeal as a reality show, though  with a more structured beginning, middle and end. And hopefully, less scripted. Celebrity bios, in particular, promise a more intimate, complete understanding of the people that we know so well, but won’t ever actually be friends with.

And yeah, I’m totally planning on one day writing an awesome memoir about my unique perspective on whatever we decide is our generation’s zeitgeist. All in good time. Right now, I’m content to curl up on the couch and read Dolly Parton’s advice on making it in this crazy world of ours. Because she’d know, right?

Think mint

Oh March — month of Madness, St. Patrick’s and, most importantly, Girl Scout cookies.

My favorite Girl Scout cookies (Thin Mints, duh) inspired a last-minute dessert for a St. Patrick’s Day party a couple of weeks ago.  Lately, I’ve been even more cupcake obsessed than normally, so I had to think of a way to turn Thin Mints into cupcakes.

About five minutes of Internet research later, I had the perfect solution. Adding a teaspoon of mint extract to regular chocolate batter  (my favorite recipe is here) bakes into a cake with an unmistakable mint chocolate flavor. For added festivity, I went with green frosting with a plan to dunk the finished product into Thin Mint cookie crumbs.

Tip: Get perfect cookie crumbs by sealing about three cookies into a Ziploc bag. Crush them with a rolling pin until the crumbs are fine and even-sized. It’s super fun, in a destructive sort of way.

Unfortunately, Irish fever hit the grocery store before I could get there. All the green food coloring at Ralphs was out of stock, so I was left with one tube of pre-made Betty Crocker frosting. It ended up being enough to only pipe a rosette onto each cupcake, so dunking the cupcakes into cookie crumbs was out of the question. Next time I want to completely frost them  so each bite has pieces of real Thin Mints stuck to it. Any volunteers to taste test the next batch?

[Slowly] finding my green thumb

After some dramatic rain, courtesy of El Niño, it finally is beginning to feel like spring in Southern California. Temperatures are up, skies are again blue and the wildflowers are showing their faces.

So now I want to immerse myself in growing things. For years, Brenna and I have had plans to start gardening. The most this ever amounted to was bringing in some blooms from the scraggly rosebush in the backyard and over the course of several months, killing a potted basil plant.

But, inspired by this post from Design Sponge, I decided to try again. I’m still starting small, again with a potted basil. I had been looking for an excuse not to throw out my Cafe du Monde tin, and my neutral counter tops needed a splash of color.

If the little sucker makes it another month, I’m going to advance myself to a tomato plant, hopefully graduating to growing daisies in a container on my porch.

What every kitchen needs

Stove, refrigerator… and radio.

When I first looked around Sam’s apartment two years ago, I remember staring blankly at the built-in clock radio in the kitchen. Why on earth would someone go to the trouble of putting a radio in the kitchen?

Not long after, I danced to the Beatles while preheating the oven. Sold.

A radio in the kitchen is definitely on the short list of things I’d like in my home someday. (My mother would say this kind of daydream means I’m nesting. In return, I would pull a face and shriek, “nuh-UH!” I feel like I always win that argument because immature brats can’t possibly be thinking of settling down.)

I like cooking, but oftentimes it’s not very exciting. Though there’s something to be said for that. It’s a soothing activity. But chopping vegetables while singing along to oldies or listening to some NPR news as the pasta boils keeps it from becoming a chore. TV, on the other  hand, is too distracting. Whenever I’ve had the TV on while I cook something, I get too wrapped up in what’s happening on screen and wind up burning something.

Though I’m not planning on moving anytime soon, I can see myself (after measuring walls, trying locks, etc.) testing out the kitchen. If I’m going to have a kitchen radio, I’ll need space on the tile to do the twist.

[Photo via kaylovesvintage]

Sugar pie, honey bun

If you’ve ever driven on I-10 through the Coachella Valley in Southern California, you know the dinosaurs. Or if you’ve ever seen Pee Wee’s Big Adventure  — those enormous statues are actually in the middle of the desert, near an outlet mall and a casino.

And though I’ve driven by those dinosaurs more times than I would like to count, it took me years before I stopped at the Wheel Inn diner next door. Though the dinosaurs are now actually a Creationism museum (which denies the very existence of the majestic Apatosaurus and Tyrannosaurus Rex on the property),  the restaurant doesn’t feel like it’s changed since it opened in 1958. Meals are standard diner fare, but the pie is so good it manages to placate my distaste for people who deny scientific facts.

On both occasions I’ve ordered desert, I’ve immediately gravitated to the chocolate cream pie. The pastry crust is homemade heaven, and the chocolate is topped with some unnatural cross between Cool Whip and heavy whipped cream. It’s the kind of pie your great aunt would bring to Thanksgiving — surely the spawn of 1950s-era “convenience” recipes, but all the more friendly for it. This might be the perfect pie.

While you’re drooling into a plate full of delight, take a look around. This diner is the real thing that’s been copied in countless movies and chain restaurants. Lighting on the faux-wood paneling is dim, but warm. Red leather covers the booths, splitting to reveal white stuffing in places. Waitresses are friendly, but there are no frills.  This is the place to go for a cup of coffee the morning before embarking on a life-changing road trip, to reveal a secret to your parents over lunch, to joke about the future with that special someone on a cold, dark night.

And maybe it’s the just the weight of a lifetime of pop culture references, but pie tastes better when you feel like you’re home.

Sick girl

Except for maybe Nicole Kidman in “Moulin Rouge,” there is nothing delightful or glamorous about being sick. And while I escaped a dramatic, yet early death from consumption, I did suffer through the nuisance of a cold this weekend. Since I’m a compulsive optimist, I couldn’t stop myself from looking for some kind of silver lining. It didn’t take me too long as I compared the merits of different varieties of cough syrup to give up that train of thought, though. Really, there is just nothing as mundane and incapacitating as a cold.

So, as I slurp my vile lemon-flavored TheraFlu, I must admit I’m at a loss. The only good thing about the virus that attacked my sinuses over the weekend is that it’s finally easing up.

I’m hoping there’s something that can ease my crankiness next time I’m not feeling well. When I was younger, I’d spend sick days home from school bundled up on the couch, reading “Pride and Prejudice” while my dog slept at my side. So maybe the real problem this time around was that I was missing Jane Austen/puppy love.

This sick-day bento box (and a puppy) might have cured my blues as well. Any other ideas for getting over a cold with minimal unpleasantness?

[Photo via Sakurako Kitsa]

One woman’s trash is delightful.

With the weekend quickly approaching, I realized fitfully this afternoon that I needed a new pair of shoes.

Well, I didn’t really need the shoes. Rather, to complete an outfit I had planned in my mind, I wanted a new pair of heels. The entire purpose of these shoes would be to complement a dark gray, floral-printed A-line dress I’ll be wearing for Valentine’s Day this year. Ideally, I wanted something retro and feminine in any color other than black — I have a weird hangup about mixing dark colors in my outfits.

Ms. Stefispice had pointed me at a couple of options from Target, where I’ve often gone to get a last-minute purchase. But, now that I’m living in one of the priciest ZIP codes in the country and working on adult things like a 401(k), finding deals is even more important than ever.

So obviously, I went to Goodwill. Best decision I’ve made all week.

Designers and antique dealers often talk about their “finds” — that incredibly valuable piece they spotted and bought for a song, a true diamond in the rough. I totally get that feeling of discovery and accomplishment when I’m at the thrift store… except, everything I fall in love with is unabashedly junk. There’s just something about weird, old crap that often really speaks to me. It’s not valuable, but I can’t help but gloat when I talk about my latest finds.

• The shoes: I found some vintage pumps that match the flowers on my dress perfectly. Objectively, they’re pretty ugly. But they fit my retro dance needs, and I think I’m also going to try to wear them to soften a severe work outfit. With gray trousers and a black turtleneck maybe? Comparable retail value: $30 Goodwill price: $10
• Decor: I also found a basket to set on top of the bathroom’s toilet tank for storing extra rolls of toilet paper, etc. I’d been looking for something to put in that spot to add a little interest to an otherwise drab corner. Comparable retail value: $15 Goodwill price: $4
• Gift: While browsing the housewares, one thing in particular jumped out at me and made me think of Meghan. Since she’s most likely moving soon, a housewarming gift was in order. But exactly what I found will have to remain a secret for now. Comparable retail value: $15 Goodwill price: $4
• Music: As a former history student, I’ve got a soft spot for anachronistic technology. I’m especially drawn to records. Amid the disorganized stack on a back shelf, the name Apollonia jumped out at me. I held my breath and picked it up to find it was indeed the super single of Apollonia 6′s “Sex Shooter” — immortalized in Prince’s film, “Purple Rain.” The cover art makes me laugh every time I look at it, and it also takes me back to when I was first introduced to that wacky, brilliant movie. Comparable retail value: $2 Goodwill price: 50 cents

I’m still delighted with all the loot I got for less than $20.

Testing, testing, 123:

Well color me impressed. WordPress has a free mobile app that lets me post from my phone. So now if there’s breaking delightful news (not sure what that would entail yet) or God forbid my laptop dies, I’ll be able to blog anywhere.

Technology, guys. It’s a brave new delightful world.