Hammers, Hacksaws, and Lots of Sugar

On Friday morning, Amanda and I packed my car full of cake-decorating supplies, shortening, cream cheese, butter, powdered sugar, aprons, rolling pins, fondant, airbrush equipment, and 14 separate frozen cakes, and drove to New Albany, Indiana to make 2 huge cakes for our friend Monica’s wedding. Amanda and I started work on the groom’s cake as soon as we reached the church. Adam wanted the cake to resemble a dirt racetrack, so we had to hack apart an extra cake to make the hills and jumps, and make an obscene amount of whipped frosting. During the summers, Amanda works at a local cake and coffee place, and sweet-talked her old boss into letting her borrow the pastry airbrush for this cake. The flower girls, waiting for the rehearsal to start, crowded around as we sprayed the cake in green and brown, and stared in amazement as Amanda used a pastry bag and specialty tip to create tufts of grass all around the painted track. I ran to the nearest superstore for a faux pine wreath and wire cutters, and made little pine trees to go with the toy car garnish.



Everything went smoothly for the groom’s cake; the bridal cake, on the other hand, was a struggle from the first. The huge layers of spice and pumpkin spice crumbled at the lightest touch, and we had to lighten the cream cheese frosting recipe to keep from tearing the cakes as we crumb-coated them. This being a very large and tall cake, we needed to cut wooden dowels to support each layer – Amanda had brought Lee’s pocketknife to cut the dowels, and after 1 hour, I had cut 4 of the 25 necessary supports. We retreated to Monica’s parents’ house, hoping to find something more powerful than a pocketknife, and were so happy to find a radial saw in their basement, which took care of the rest of our dowels in less than 10 minutes.

Natch, we discovered the next morning that I had measured the dowels incorrectly. I was sent back to the superstore to buy more dowels, a small hacksaw, and a sifter (I had broken Mrs. Adkins’ sifter the night before – the poor old thing just came apart in my hands).

We frosted and swirled the cakes a second time, and after removing our heels and any objects higher than 2 millimeters off the floor to ensure no tripping between the kitchen and the fellowship hall, we carried each layer out to the table. After all the layers were stacked, we had to hammer a sharpened dowel through the center of the stack to make sure they wouldn’t slide during the cutting process. This time, Amanda failed to measure the dowel, and we spent a breathless couple of minutes with her holding the mostly-submerged dowel steady and me gently working away with the hacksaw an inch or so above the cake. All through the ceremony, Amanda and I fought the impulse to run out of the sanctuary to make sure the cake hadn’t toppled.



We were also given the task of cutting and serving the cake, which was much more complex and sticky than I could have imagined. The cake, due to its moist deliciousness, proved difficult to slice cleanly. We also battled the customary nuisance at any wedding – an adorable yet annoyingly precocious 5-year-old boy, who was constantly underfoot, insisting on “helping”, and dropping plates of cake onto the carpet. By the end of the reception, the cake table looked like the battleground at Agincourt, smothered by the fallen chunks of cake.

The Willing Hostage of Adolescent Culture

The Time: Today. 11:15 am

The Place: Fandango.com

The News: Tickets already sold out for 12:01 am showing of the Twilight movie

The Reaction: Text Amanda, brace myself for onslaught of panic from numerous female friends, plan to buy ticket for 12:05 am showing.


Grad-school snobbery aside, the Twilight series has been a great guilty pleasure for me over the past year, and I’m looking forward to the late-night premier event filled with squealing teenagers and hunky vampires. How can anyone who truly loves literature be dismayed about this much frenzy over a book? It may not be Shakespeare, but it may also be paving the way to a lifetime of literary exploration for thousands of students. Every time I’ve stepped into my local Barnes & Noble in the past year, I’ve witnessed the exact same scene and couldn’t help smiling: a person or group of persons walking away from the massive red and black Twilight display is stopped by a person or group of persons walking towards the Twilight display.

“Is that the latest Twilight book?”

“Yeah, it’s awesome! I already read my school library’s copy (or a friend’s copy, or the local library’s copy), but I wanted one for myself. You’re going to love it!”

“I still think the first book was the best.”

“Wait till you try this one. It’s even better!”

“Oh, sweet!”

So, when I’m standing in line next week, surrounded by teens dressed as vampires and clutching their black and red tomes, I’ll remember that this is a display of the power of the English language, and keep the sarcasm to a minimum.

Amanda has taken great pride in passing the books along to all her neighbors, friends, and relatives, and started planning this evening several months ago. We’re getting together tonight to buy our tickets online, and to plan some pre-movie activities. I’m not sure what the others have in mind; I just hope it doesn’t involve costumes.

Professional Maturation

I'm freshly back from my first business trip, and somehow I feel much more grown up - the mystery is gone from a few of the multitude dark corners of human experience.

My company has service branches scattered throughout the world, and manufacturing plants in Illinois, South Carolina, Spain, and Germany. Since knowledge of the machine is fairly important when it comes to writing its manual, my position has a built-in excuse for travel, but this was the first time that I dared to take advantage of it. Fortunately, my job still retains a great deal of mystery within the engineering department, and I can make most of my own decisions without even consulting my superiors; my immediate boss suffers from a lack of manegerial motivation and a fear of women as a species, which explains why he hasn't asked for an update on my work since January.

I flew down to South Carolina on Monday, after stopping by my office for a few hours to do some last minute work and leave the boys a plate of peanut butter cookies. Anton's secretary had arranged all my transportation for the trip; I must have done something recently to make Anton happy, because I stepped out of my apartment to find a white limo standing ready to take me to the airport. I sat in the back seat, wrapped in my Indian shawl, reading Gaskell's North and South, and feeling very grown-up and professional.



For those of you who have never visited Chicago's O'Hare airport, the place is a labyrinth. It has four separate terminals, connected by a monorail system, and covers enough ground to merit its own zip code. The first time I went there to pick someone up, it took me nearly an hour just to find her. Fortunately, O'Hare is a little easier to navigate when you're the tourist. I checked my bag, and wandered half a mile to the end of one of the terminals to encounter the first of my "firsts": an itty bitty airplane. Apart from brief rides in a helicopter and a hot air balloon, all of my aerial travels were taken in big Boeing aircrafts; it was so exciting to be able to walk out onto the tarmac and smell the jet fuel and hear the roar of planes all around me. I was half tempted to turn around and give the peace sign when I reached the plane door, but I managed to restrain myself.

After reaching Charleston, my second "first" involved renting a car. Yes, you heard right, I've never rented a car before. The man at the counter tried to sweet talk me into signing up for all the insurance and fuel packages, but I was forewarned at Peddinghaus that I was already covered by the compnay's insurance, and so I was able to refuse them all with confidence. I got in my little silver Chevy Cobalt, and struck out for Georgetown in the rapidly approaching darkness. Once there, I had the last of my "firsts": checking into a hotel by myself. By the end of the day, I felt so grown-up and experienced (feel free to snicker if you know me at all).

My work in Andrews went well; I had little to do, since the computers were not set up correctly, and I could not do half the work I had originally planned on. Andrews gives the feeling that it's in its death throes; driving along the main street, you can see nothing but gutted commercial and residential buildings, mouldering trailer homes, torn-up streets, and men and dogs wandering the roads with empty eyes. I called my mom at lunch to tell her that I had wandered into a Stephen King novel - it's that creepy.

Fortunately, I was able to find a dose of civilization every night, in the form of an Asian bistro and sushi bar called Emi. After work, I would go to the hotel, change, drive to Pawleys Island, and spend at least an hour lingering over delicious sushi. Trav, you'll be proud of me - I tried salmon skin for the first time, and loved it!

And so, here I am, back at home, and feeling well-traveled. Next stop: Vittoria, Spain! (That is, after over six months, and only after I have come up with an airtight reason to go.)