You Must Have Known it Would Come To This

Cookies and Curses Gone Awry

The Hidden Trope That Fuels Your Vicarious Adventures (Repost)

July is a free review month! This post would normally be for Patreon subscribers, but is being reposted for free. If you’re not a Patreon subscriber, this is what the Patreon posts are like. If you are a Patreon subscriber and have been wanting to share this post, now you can! (please do).

One of the last times we talked, you told me you didn’t really have a favorite genre. You said you would read any book or watch any TV show as long as it was good. I don’t deny that you have are very particular taste. And I am not trying to be reductive when I say this. I’m merely saying that I believe I have found a common thread in your entertainment choices.

Your favorite other lives to live and worlds to throw yourself into, whether they be deep in outer space, some dreary seaside town, or the regency era countryside, are the lives and worlds of people who are already good at something. To give credit where credit is due, you have little patience for stories where the protagonist is naturally good at something or magically good at something or (barf) the “Chosen One.” They need to have worked at it, but at some point before the story starts because you don’t really want to hear about that.

I don’t think it’s that uncommon. You just want to breeze past the hard part of getting in shape or mastering a new language or learning to paint or becoming a sleuth. And it’s a nice little vacation for you to pretend that you’re already there. Just like a vision board of future vacation destinations. It’s what everyone wants, and it’s so much easier to read about, and honestly to write, than it is to actually achieve. Every genre has this trope. It’s why your tastes are so widely varied across genres.

It’s why are you so gleefully ate up the story of a confident, jacked space lesbian in Gideon the Ninth. From the very beginning of the book, she could already do more push-ups than you could ever dream of doing. And that’s what you liked about. You like that it mentioned every once in a while the effort she put in and trauma she endured to get that kind of strength, but you would not have wanted to read a book about little Gideon training to become the wisecracking competent person she ultimately would.

It’s a nice little jaunt into a world where you, too, have already mastered some skill, but these books and TV shows have an extra secret bonus. Maybe they do it to make reentry into the real world a bit easier, maybe their creators do it out of subliminal jealousy. There is always some excuse buried in there to never, ever reach that level of achievement. In those little tidbits of backstory, there is always some trade off for that level of expertise. Maybe it was growing up so singularly focused on one pursuit, or some horrific trauma, or sacrifices made in adulthood, usually in the form of ruined relationships.

Take, for example, Ned from Pushing Daisies, I know, I know “but he’s magically good at something.” I would argue that he’s magically pretty capable, and the entertainment comes from his mistakes, but he is a skilled baker. Oh yes, he bakes beautiful pies, and does it so well he owns a bakery where he exclusively bakes pies. But what is the trade off? His mom is dead. They mention the correlation between the two pretty much every episode. And you wouldn’t take that trade.

So it really is the perfect vicarious experience. Pleasant enough to provide a brief respite from the real world but unpalatable enough that you’re not likely to linger.

-Carolyn

Adopt Your Very Own YA Love Triangle (Repost)

Free, Harry and Dash

It looks like you’ve fallen for the oldest trick in the book. In Fall 2019, you adopted another cat as a companion for me, hoping we would keep each other occupied while you were at work. How naïve you were. You did not realize the world would come to a standstill and our competition for your affection would become our favorite pastime.

We have different strategies, of course. I am moody and aloof during the day. I find the highest possible vantage point and watch you like a gargoyle. At night, I become exceptionally needy. You have bills to pay on your computer? I’m sitting on the keyboard. Cooking dinner? I’m underfoot begging for every single scrap. Going to sleep? I’ll be there, right beside you, making sure you can’t move your legs while you try to fall asleep, lest you forget me.

His approach is nearly the opposite. He is purring and compliant. He rushes to you the second you walk in the door. He demands to sit on your lap while you watch TV at night. He will fetch toys you throw for him, allowing you to be doing something else in the meantime. All night, he’ll play on his own, but in the morning, he’ll be breathing in your face, reminding you that it’s breakfast time, even if your alarm hasn’t gone off yet.

We complement each other perfectly. Sometimes it’s the only thing we can agree on. Between the two of us, we can command nearly all of your attention. I wonder if you realize the irony of your situation. I did not know you when you were in high school, but I know your type. You were the kind of person who had very little sympathy for any fictional character who was involved in anything that looked remotely like a love triangle.

Now, of course, your perspective has shifted with more lived experience, a greater capacity for empathy, and a voracious appetite for rom coms. You don’t seem to realize that you’ve created that exact scenario, albeit with much lower stakes. You get all the attention and affection, but with none of the problematic expectations. Your life is still completely yours. Our needs and demands remain the same, food, water, clean litter box, engaging play. And best of all, there is no pressure to eventually choose between us. You’ve already chosen both of us.

It’s really the perfect scenario, the opposite of a catch-22. Either we continue this way forever, and you keep your continuous source of affection, or you need us less, we bond over our shared unrequited attention and you get what you want in the first place.

-Harry and Dash

The Complex Nature of Curses (Repost)

Ella, Review

Like any kind of magic, the specific power with which Erica and I are endowed requires great care in its use. We cannot “curse” others according to a specific spell with more or less predictable results. The magic we carry within us depends solely on our intentions and necessitates great respect and regard for any possible consequences. I say this as an explanation for why I don’t use my own magic very often, and am focusing on other areas of Erica’s life before I teach her how to use her gift.

Let us take a situation that is relatively low-stakes, but highly aggravating scenario: You wake up early on Saturday to beat the laundry rush in your building, only to find that someone has left their clothes in the washer since last night*. An understandable first reaction is to curse the person who did that, usually with words. After all, you dragged your week of laundry down three flights of stairs only to have to leave it unattended in the laundry room or drag it back up again. And you have your whole day planned. Now you can’t even properly readjust your schedule because you can’t predict when this person will wake up and switch their laundry.

But the hurling of curses should be limited to a few choice words under your breath. While it might be appealing, for those with any kind of magic powers, to curse the lingering clothes, there is not enough information. You might be cursing someone who came down with a sudden stomach bug or had some kind of family emergency after they started their laundry the previous night. Or, you could be cursing someone who go up a half hour earlier than you to do laundry and will be down in just a few minutes.

If this is a repeated occurrence and there is sufficient evidence, perhaps a distinctive piece of clothing, that it is the same person, the temptation to curse may grow. First there is the temptation to curse the laundry itself, which should be avoided. Like the temptation to throw a piece of gum or a broken pen in the washer, all this does is invite the now angered laundry-leaver to mess with your laundry. Or worse, you have been needlessly cruel toward an otherwise delightful person. Punitive curses are momentarily satisfying, but accomplish little in the way of tangible changes in behavior. After all, if a person is already passively inconsiderate, punishing them for an action they have no memory of may only worsen their general demeanor, making them actively rude or cruel.

The two remaining options are to compel this person to be more considerate or to find a way to remove this inconvenience from your life. The former is almost impossible, leaving the latter as the best option, although still quite labor-intensive. First, you must identify the laundry-leaver. This can be difficult in a building where neighbors are seldom seen.

Next, you must learn about them. This requires more than discovering what kind of ruse is necessary to get some cursed baked goods in the door. We already discussed the futility and cruelty of punitive curses. You need to know what you really want out of the situation. It may be tempting to send them somewhere that they will have to contend with an inconvenient laundry situation or worse, but once again cruelty is never truly satisfying. What’s best for you, from hundreds of years of experience, is the best possible life for them, separate from you. You will need to get to know them. Start with a seemingly chance meeting, find some common ground. Have a reason to speak again.

When you are in regular contact, discover more about their hopes and aspirations. Have they always dreamed of moving to the desert? Maybe they miss having a yard? Be open to the opportunities they reveal to you. Look for something that would benefit them and benefit you by allowing them to explore opportunities outside the building. How you coax them toward that opportunity is up to you. Maybe you give them a confidence boost before a job interview. Maybe you make them more perceptive to job announcements out of state. Either way, choose carefully. Pushing them toward an opportunity they are unlikely to take advantage of could lead to disappointment for them and for you. And success in this endeavor does not guarantee that the next tenant will be more considerate.

Of course, you could simply wait and do your laundry later.

-Ella

*If you are the kind of person who does this, please understand I bear you no ill will, but if you cannot stay awake for another half hour, is it worth starting your laundry at all? The worst that waiting could bring is that some earlybird beats you to the washer, but then you will only have a half hour or so to wait. We are usually much more punctual.

You Mean Other People Live Here Too? (Repost)

Free, Harry and Dash

We know there are myriad reasons why you keep us inside. We are not going to argue with those. We happily except the consolation of occasionally running up and down the hallways of your building.

The hallway is, in many ways, the perfect environment for us to exercise our bodies and our minds. The long straightaway allows us to sprint or simply amble adequate distances and the tight turns we must make when you try to catch us keep us agile. When we feel our climbing skills need some polish, there is always the staircase where we can twist in and out of the wrought iron railing or walk nimbly down the outside ledge of the stairs.

There are always new and mysterious smells for us. Sometimes they are stains on the floor, and sometimes they emanate from the other doors. Occasionally, we hear sounds from behind the doorways, too. It is always an interesting puzzle trying to figure out what they are.

When we say it all together, it seems rather obvious. But you must understand where we are coming from. One of us was an indoor cat in a previous life, but in some grand, half-vacant palace. And one of us has never been an indoor cat before. We thought we hit an indoor cat jackpot. We had a safe place to run and investigate and had so much fun giving you the slip to get out the door.

You don’t have to imagine how frightened we were the first time we heard a noise coming from the stairwell. We both have seen that mysterious locked door at the bottom of the stairs, although only a few times since you try your best not to keep us on your floor. But we both knew that must be origin of the footsteps that grew louder and louder coming up the stairs toward us.

Luckily, you were there to save us. We only had to spend a few seconds cowering at the door waiting for you to catch up with us and let us inside. But of course, our quick retreat to safety left the source of those footsteps entirely up to our imagination. Now, whenever we hear footsteps ascending the stairs, or bolts turn in one of the closed doors along the hallway, our minds turn to the worst. You might think these rare but terrifying sightings would keep us out of the hallway all together. But in fact, they make it a much more exciting adventure.

-Harry and Dash

Disclaimer: This is Frustrating, But Still Worth It (Repost)

Erica, Review

To say this blog is not exactly how I imagined it is an understatement. I have been sitting on the idea starting this blog for over a year. As an avid reader of other craft and DIY blogs, I had a grand vision for my own. This grand vision involved many skills and habits I do not have. I could have waited, put my crafting projects on pause to learn these skills, but then I may have lost my momentum.

Progress photos, an essential part of any DIY blog, are the best example. I often work on my projects at night when the lighting is bad for photographs, and I have neither the budget nor space for supplemental lighting. I also sometimes just get so into whatever I’m working on at the idea of taking pictures does not even occur to me. I also don’t necessarily always have a clean and elegant setting for my photos since my coffee table is often covered with books, papers, and unfinished projects. And I’m not about to clean again just to get a quick picture.

I did think about supplementing one or two photos per post with a neat line drawing for each step. Since the lighting would again be an issue taking photos of actual drawings, I decided to purchase a drawing tablet for my computer. Well, that’s a lot harder than it seems. I haven’t given up on it yet. I’m still learning, but my skill level certainly is not in a place where I am willing to publish those drawings on the Internet.

I won’t even get into my shortcomings with WordPress and the internet in general, or crafts that I want to try, but have little experience with. If I tried to learn that before I published my first blog post, you’d never see any of this. Like all my other projects, I’ll be learning as I go, and I think that’s the most honest representation of my creative process.

I say all this not to inspire any sort of sympathy, but to say that I know it is not perfect and if I had waited until it was I would never have started. I like to create mostly because I like to control. Creating something from scratch means that I get exactly what I want, at least within my abilities. When something is beyond my abilities, I often abandon the idea without learning or asking for help.

I place an unhealthy amount of value on being naturally good at things, or at least appearing so. These warped ideals happen when you have no natural talent in areas that seem to come easily to everyone else. I’ve always been very easily overwhelmed and had trouble controlling my emotions. When I was a child, that often led to magical outbursts. They could get so bad that those around me were in danger. I was told I needed to control myself as if the outbursts were my choice, but was never taught how. My parents were ill-equipped to deal with me and professional help was out of the question. They could not trust a four-year-old to keep her mouth shut. My mother tried to teach me to cook, hoping that would help me the way it helped her, but I was so useless at it, the results were almost as dangerous as my outbursts.

Eventually, I accomplished a veneer of control. I never had an outburst when I felt good, and I felt good when I excelled and was praised. I stayed away from any activity at which I did not naturally excel. I only let myself be frustrated in private. If I had to fail at something publicly, I made a show of not putting in any effort at all. By the time I was in college, I was exhausted. I realized what I was doing was not healthy and began undoing all the harm done by the idea that I must succeed at everything.

And part of that part of undoing the damage done by those thoughts is admitting this is not perfect. It’s not how I imagined it would be. And I’m still trying really hard. But it’s still worth it, because I just need it to start.

-Erica

Think of Your Aesthetic as a Journey (it’s cheaper too) (Repost)

Carolyn, Review

So much social media these days, or at least the social media I read over your shoulder, is concerned with the concept of “aesthetic.” Back in my time, we would have referred to it as “style,” although aesthetic seems to be more narrowly defined. In your case, it seems to mean an Instagram feed full of pastels and leatherbound books and the breeze blowing through embroidered curtains.

I see you looking at these pictures and then at your own apartment and sighing. No, you don’t have a place in your apartment that’s a perfect background for photos, but that’s okay. Yes, your shelves still hold modern books with mismatched covers and *gasp* some DVDs that you still hang on to. That’s all okay.

Creating a cohesive environment takes time and money, both of which you have in short supply. A complete overhaul is out of the question, not to mention wasteful considering much of what you have is still perfectly useful. And even though you know deep down, you still need reminding that just because it took you an instant to look at a picture of a perfectly set table or swoon-worthy bookshelf does not mean that it took an instant to put together.

Remember, you’re starting where you are, and that’s someone who’s just a few years out of college. You still have an apartment full of thrift store furniture that you bought because it was cheap and you just needed furniture. Or its your first real piece of furniture that you bought new from the store and you don’t want to let go just yet. Either way, there is a good reason your apartment looks a bit eclectic and a good reason to get every little bit of use out of that furniture. You also like to make things yourself and display gifts from other people, two tendencies which can be difficult to incorporate into a cohesive aesthetic.

While these tendencies might mean that it takes you longer to put together a room you’re satisfied with, they have many hidden benefits. Yes, it is frustrating to watch packages and packages of homewares arrive for your neighbors while you’re not in the best financial spot, but waiting until something needs replacing will be cheaper in the long run. Whether it’s propagating your own houseplants or an inventive way to make your DVDs look like fancy books, you’ll always have a better story than “I wanted it so I bought it.” This is not to say that anyone who has already arrived at their own sense of style or has decided to completely renovate their living room to cope with quarantine is wrong. It’s just that every path has their advantages, whether or not they’re immediately appealing to Instagram.

What’s more, taking time to really develop an aesthetic means it can continue to evolve as time goes on. While certain sentimental objects will remain staples, you can replace things with something that both matches your aesthetic and is significant to you. Don’t think of the end result as the final look of the room, but rather the criteria you use when choosing new items for your apartment. Your apartment will never look quite as polished as the pictures you sigh at on rainy days, but it will be vastly more interesting, especially for me.

-Carolyn

The First Curse: Jealousy is a Powerful Motivator (Repost)

Erica, Free

It should come as no surprise, based on my childhood outbursts, that my first controlled curse was based in negative emotions. I still believe it was a success, despite Ella’s disapproval.

This curse begins, much to Ella’s dismay, in jealousy. I have never been a particularly attractive or charismatic person. Ella says this is common among magical folk as it is necessary for survival. True or not, I still ended up lacking two traits that our society highly values. I’ve done a lot of work getting to a point where I can simply live my life without worrying without comparing myself to others. Unfortunately, getting there required living through many experiences that I look back on and am ashamed of the way I felt.

In one particular instance, a friend and I went out for drinks (pre-pandemic). She tends to be busier than I am so I was excited for the opportunity to spend some time catching up with her. She is also much more attractive and charismatic than I am so I was disappointed but not surprised when a man much older than us accosted her at the beginning of the evening and kept her in conversation for the rest of the night.

I later learned that she was having just as miserable time as I was but in the moment I was too jealous to recognize the signs. There was a constant mention of her boyfriend and the maintenance of a physical distance between them. There were all of the linguistic cues women used to deaden a conversation, but not end it for fear of escalation.

I was ashamed of my thoughts and actions and how blindly I had bought into the societal dictate that for women there is no such thing as unwanted attention. I promised I would do better, be a better friend, next time the opportunity presented itself. I did not realize it would happen so soon.

This time, my friend, her boyfriend, and I we’re out with a large group of people which insulated us from skeezy older men and allowed me to passively enjoy the conversation happening around me. During a pause in conversation I glanced around the bar I just saw that same man from a few weeks before scanning the room and setting his eyes upon a group of three young college students before moving to the bar to order a drink.

I excused myself from the conversation and slipped easily behind the busy bar. Sometimes it is not so bad to be invisible. He noticed me this time. I locked eyes with him and motioned for him to come towards the bar, but he did not recognize me. He ordered a well drink. Apparently I was not someone he needed to impress with a pretentious order. As I made it, I thought of much he annoyed me that night he’d so presumptuously commandeered my conversation with a friend. And I thought of those three girls standing in a tight circle at a cocktail table in the corner of the bar, clearly not looking to interact with anybody else, and I handed him his drink. He paid with a 10 which I handed to the harried bartender at the register and told her he did not need any change and then I left.

I told my friend I thought I saw the man from a couple weeks ago on my way back from the bathroom. She recognized him with a sneer and noticed his trajectory towards the three college students in the corner. I watched with anticipation as he crossed the room, silently begging him to take a sip of his drink before he reached the table. He did, just before stepping in to their line of sight.

He approached them with all the confidence of someone who had known them for 20 years. They would have been toddlers at best. They looked at him with confusion and not a hint of recognition. Their conversation stopped with a quick flurry of glances and head shakes that confirmed none of them knew him. He set his drink down on their table, much to their shock. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe introduce himself, but no words came out. He tried again and again with the same result while the students looked on confused and concerned. One of them finally asked if he needed any help but he shook his head and managed to croak “No, I’m sorry,” and walked away. They closed ranks again and shrugged the whole incident off as drunk people antics, before returning to their conversation. I must commend them for not laughing throughout the whole ordeal. We certainly did.

-Erica

Patience, Planning, and Mise en Place: a Macaron Adventure (Repost)

Ella, Review

Erica is occasionally gripped by the idea that she should be able to cook or bake despite all evidence to the contrary. When in this state, she will not settle for something simple, but often attempts something complex and labor-intensive and often enlists my help. During this particular bout of hubris, or insecurity, the two are often intertwined, she decided to make macarons for an outdoor get together with her college friends.

I don’t know why. I don’t like her college friends. She doesn’t even seem to like her college friends. I must point out before I go any further, I use the term “college friends” to describe a group of five or six highly competitive young women I have nothing in common except that they were all friends in college*. And seem to think that this obliges them to a twice yearly ritual of getting together and catching up. And in this case “catching up” refers to bragging about salaries, vacations, future home purchases, and upcoming weddings.

College friends aside, I thought this adventure provided a good opportunity to teach Erica about the amount of patience in planning that goes into any large scale baking or cooking project. She has attempted to make macarons before, and from what I gather we results were not aesthetically perfect, but were quite tasty. Unfortunately, this time she fell victim to the fallacy that learning from her past mistakes meant she was ready to bake to impress. I did not dissuade her from this notion, but simply tried to guide her through the process as best I could.

We began with a very serious planning effort. She was intent on using a hodgepodge of flavorings and ingredients she had around the house and so basic recipes and other ingredient quantities were determined and supplementary ingredients were purchased. We also planned phases for the actual baking and assembly of the final cookies. Her little get together was planned for brunch time on Saturday morning which meant she would have to cook these during the week. Rather than allow her to exhaust and disappoint herself thinking that she could accomplish this all in one evening, we planned for the three separate tasks of making the fillings, baking the cookies, and the final assembly.

Erica chose to make one butter cream and two custards for her fillings. All three were flavored with puréed, canned fruit she had purchased over a year ago when her anxiety told her an apocalypse was eminent. There are not many published recipes that involve using canned fruit in delicate French pastries. Her emotional investment was high. She needed something more than her entry-level job to show off. I was sure the macarons would taste fine, but was worried about what else might end up in there.

Where Erica went right in this adventure was in her attempt do use the French cooking technique mise en place, which involves preparing ingredients ahead of time so they can simply be added to the recipe. Butter and cream cheese were set on the counter to soften. Eggs were separated. And all the fruit puréed before any mixing of ingredients started.

With the cranberry custard, she tossed the ingredients one by one into a heated saucepan. Unfortunately this meant that the egg yolks cooked immediately, but surprisingly Erica was not deterred. She uttered a few choice words under her breath, then stirred the custard delicately so as not to disturb any of the scrambled egg and strained it when she was satisfied that it was done. For the next custard she mixed all her ingredients before putting them in the saucepan and everything went wonderfully.

She had a slight misadventure with the buttercream, when she realize she had not softened quite enough butter in proportion to the cream cheese. Her attempts to soften the extra butter were not quite sufficient and she ended the night with a somewhat lumpy buttercream frosting. Much to my dismay and anxiety she made no attempt to correct this, but simply scooped it into a container and put it in the refrigerator. I can somewhat understand why as I was already close to 10 PM. Overall, Erica’s outward composure was impressive.

The cookies were another adventure. For her first and largest batch, she simply sifted plain almond flour and sugar into her egg mixture. I know she noticed something amiss when she piped them onto the cookie tray, but it was too late to do anything and she was not going to start over. While those were waiting to go into the oven she surprised me by blending the remaining flour and sugar mixture. At some point that night, she also took the buttercream out of the refrigerator warmed, it up a bit and put that in the blender until it was smooth as well. There were more choice words from her and much hand-wringing from me.

I was not present for the assembly of the cookies. Erica did that on Friday morning before work. Occasionally, her anxiety wakes her up at some ungodly hour and rather than try to get back to sleep, she decides she has to do something. This time is was fill and assemble her macarons. This particular bout of anxiety worried me more than any of the quick, panicked reactions I had seen the night before. I did expressed this to her, but she just smiled and told me it would all be fine.