Hunger Mountain Creative Nonfiction Prize
One first place winner receives $1000 and publication. Two honorable mentions receive $100 each.
2009 Judge: Robin Hemley, author of Do-Over
Guidelines:
• $20 entry fee, payable to “Hunger Mountain”
• Submit one piece of creative nonfiction, not to exceed 10,000 words
• Writing must be original, written in English, and previously unpublished
• Your name or address should not appear anywhere on the essay
• Enclose a standard index card with essay title and your name, address, phone number, and email address
• Enclose an SASE for notification of winners
• Enclose a postage-paid postcard for acknowledgement of entry (if you’d like)
• Entries must be typed, double-spaced, and on one side of the paper only
• Use a paper clip or send unbound—no staples or binding, please
• Once submitted, entries cannot be altered
• All entries will be considered for general publication as well as for the CNF Prize
• No simultaneous submissions, artwork, or translations please
• Multiple entries allowed—each entry must be sent separately and include a separate entry fee
• No entries will be returned
• Email hungermtn@vermontcollege.edu with questions
Send Creative Nonfiction Entries to:
CNF Prize
Hunger Mountain
Vermont College of Fine Arts
36 College Street
Montpelier, VT 05602
see website
Monday, August 31, 2009
Nonfiction Contest
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Ad of the Week
I think the ad company working for the AARP did a really cool job of coming up with an easily understood (and disturbing) visual for their message.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Rainy Friday
It's been raining for several days now. I kinda like it. It makes the temperature bearable and I love the sound of plinking into puddles and trickling down the storm drain. Besides, it's the one time when there's that earthy smell that is simply rain.
When I lived in Chicago rain meant a battle. A struggle against getting too soaked walking, against puddles, against overhands ready to turn into waterfalls, against car tires spraying up walls of dirty, gritty water.
I'm so glad I moved.
Although the sounds of the night are different they are still remarkably the same. Instead of hearing homeless guys fight in the middle of the night and the 161 bus ding that it has arrived then ding again that the doors are closing, I awoke several times last night to the sound of a couple fighting.
Around 3:00 a.m. a car peeled out of the parking lot making the strangest noise given all the water sloshing around.
At 5:00 a.m. he's back and banging on the door of the apartment then on the window of his girlfriend's bedroom. Cindy let me in. I'm sorry. let me in, okay? Then Fuck it, Cindy, let me in. Then You want me to wait? Fine I can fucking wait and the car door slams again as he sits out in his car patiently waiting.
Or not so patiently as thirty minutes later he's back to banging on the window and yelling into the glass before he again slams the car door and peels out of here.
They only moved in a few days ago; this could be an interesting year. Much more entertaining than the homeless guys in Chicago.
When I lived in Chicago rain meant a battle. A struggle against getting too soaked walking, against puddles, against overhands ready to turn into waterfalls, against car tires spraying up walls of dirty, gritty water.
I'm so glad I moved.
Although the sounds of the night are different they are still remarkably the same. Instead of hearing homeless guys fight in the middle of the night and the 161 bus ding that it has arrived then ding again that the doors are closing, I awoke several times last night to the sound of a couple fighting.
Around 3:00 a.m. a car peeled out of the parking lot making the strangest noise given all the water sloshing around.
At 5:00 a.m. he's back and banging on the door of the apartment then on the window of his girlfriend's bedroom. Cindy let me in. I'm sorry. let me in, okay? Then Fuck it, Cindy, let me in. Then You want me to wait? Fine I can fucking wait and the car door slams again as he sits out in his car patiently waiting.
Or not so patiently as thirty minutes later he's back to banging on the window and yelling into the glass before he again slams the car door and peels out of here.
They only moved in a few days ago; this could be an interesting year. Much more entertaining than the homeless guys in Chicago.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
The Gimmick
So you've written a book, now what's your gimmick?
I hate to sound snide, but it seems that much of the talk about literary novels by small or new name authors has much more to do with their attention grabbing activities than the novel itself.
In the most recent Poets & Writers there's an article I found fascinating written by Mike Heppner covering his alternative publishing scheme (and I mean that term in the non-sleazy context). He publishes two novels through traditional means and channels, then dead ends (he gives reasons and details in the article) then writes a novella which he posts on his website because the website was terribly sad and empty. The project evolves and he's suddenly writing four interlinking novellas. The second he publishes with a small press that he's worked with before -- I believe making chapbooks of novella two which are (were? have they sold out?) for sale in the traditional sense. Novella three consists of a print run of 500 photo copies which have been left around the country and parts of Europe with instructions to read me, then email your thoughts. Heppner is posting reactions from readers as well as their photographs of novella three in the wild.
After these three mediums what could novella four possibly be? How about one. One copy, handwritten by the author, available if you discover the secret and you're the first to contact him with the magic code/handshake/password.
I'm insanely intrigued.
Next, on Lynn Viehl's blog I came across this link to an author website that I am in love with. (Viehl seemed more annoyed than intrigued but everyone's entitled to her own opinion.) Yes, I clicked through all the messages, I am thoroughly amused and intrigued and since author Miranda July was compared to Lorrie Moore by her blurbers I'm off today to the library to go find and read her collection.
Which brings me back to the so what's your gimmick? question.
Do you need a publicity gimmick? Well you certainly need something to catch people's eyes. And I have to admit that if you are a in a situation where you can do writing as art (i.e. you have a secure, reasonably well paying day job) then why not do distribution as art as well? Eastern Michigan University has an interesting writing MA program in hybrid writing which explores these facets more thoroughly -- I always think of it as hybrid storytelling as it combines visual art with writing, with technology, with community, with ... well, with whatever you can think of.
Anyone else seen/heard anything intriguing of late?
Update: "Talking Man," the aforementioned (print) novella by Mike Heppner is still available from smallanchorpress.com in its second edition format.
I hate to sound snide, but it seems that much of the talk about literary novels by small or new name authors has much more to do with their attention grabbing activities than the novel itself.
In the most recent Poets & Writers there's an article I found fascinating written by Mike Heppner covering his alternative publishing scheme (and I mean that term in the non-sleazy context). He publishes two novels through traditional means and channels, then dead ends (he gives reasons and details in the article) then writes a novella which he posts on his website because the website was terribly sad and empty. The project evolves and he's suddenly writing four interlinking novellas. The second he publishes with a small press that he's worked with before -- I believe making chapbooks of novella two which are (were? have they sold out?) for sale in the traditional sense. Novella three consists of a print run of 500 photo copies which have been left around the country and parts of Europe with instructions to read me, then email your thoughts. Heppner is posting reactions from readers as well as their photographs of novella three in the wild.
After these three mediums what could novella four possibly be? How about one. One copy, handwritten by the author, available if you discover the secret and you're the first to contact him with the magic code/handshake/password.
I'm insanely intrigued.
Next, on Lynn Viehl's blog I came across this link to an author website that I am in love with. (Viehl seemed more annoyed than intrigued but everyone's entitled to her own opinion.) Yes, I clicked through all the messages, I am thoroughly amused and intrigued and since author Miranda July was compared to Lorrie Moore by her blurbers I'm off today to the library to go find and read her collection.
Which brings me back to the so what's your gimmick? question.
Do you need a publicity gimmick? Well you certainly need something to catch people's eyes. And I have to admit that if you are a in a situation where you can do writing as art (i.e. you have a secure, reasonably well paying day job) then why not do distribution as art as well? Eastern Michigan University has an interesting writing MA program in hybrid writing which explores these facets more thoroughly -- I always think of it as hybrid storytelling as it combines visual art with writing, with technology, with community, with ... well, with whatever you can think of.
Anyone else seen/heard anything intriguing of late?
Update: "Talking Man," the aforementioned (print) novella by Mike Heppner is still available from smallanchorpress.com in its second edition format.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
All Over the Place
As I write this I am answering an email, considering another email which I should have already answered. I'm hanging a coat rack, putting together a resume and trying to keep my cat from pulling stuff off the cork board by my desk. Ug. Scatterbrained.
What I would like to share is this article, "Research, Track and Conquer: How to Research Short Fiction Markets, Track Submissions, and Ultimately Get Published" written by Joseph Thomas editor of Ramble Underground.
In the article he suggestions using Newpages.com as a tool for journal discovery. What interests me about what New Pages has to offer are the Literary Magazine Reviews. I thought I would like their blog but it turns out it is mostly a page redirecting you to other (possibly) relevant content on the web.
Their organization is lacking in their "listings" (journal and schools are often listed by who has paid to advertise and then everyone else) and they do not have the search/sort features you can find on Duotrope.com nor do they have Duotrope's awesome submission tracker which I highly recommend. For searching for MFA programs I recommend using the AWP's database.
What I would like to share is this article, "Research, Track and Conquer: How to Research Short Fiction Markets, Track Submissions, and Ultimately Get Published" written by Joseph Thomas editor of Ramble Underground.
In the article he suggestions using Newpages.com as a tool for journal discovery. What interests me about what New Pages has to offer are the Literary Magazine Reviews. I thought I would like their blog but it turns out it is mostly a page redirecting you to other (possibly) relevant content on the web.
Their organization is lacking in their "listings" (journal and schools are often listed by who has paid to advertise and then everyone else) and they do not have the search/sort features you can find on Duotrope.com nor do they have Duotrope's awesome submission tracker which I highly recommend. For searching for MFA programs I recommend using the AWP's database.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Projects, Unfinished
I need to learn to do one day projects. Because when your Sunday project turns into your Monday project you inevitably want nothing to do with it when you wake up on Monday.
Yesterday I emptied my entire closet -- the one space in my apartment that had not been thoughtfully organized at some point during my one year residency here -- with dellusions that by that evening I would have cleaned surfaces, sorted clothing, discarded the unused items and reorganized everything back into new homes. New homes in the closet.
But to construct first we must destruct. And boom! went my closet; all the products of the excavation process are strewn about my bedroom covering my entire bed and some of the floor.
Round one was successful at sorting, folding, hanging and generally getting stuff off the bed and back into the closet. Then round two started and I covered the bed yet again with another layer of stuff. Round one went to me, round two went to the mess.
So what do you do when your bed is covered with stuff and it's time to sleep? Stay up late into the night to finish the project? Hell no! Just forgo the bed and camp on the futon, of course.
Yesterday I emptied my entire closet -- the one space in my apartment that had not been thoughtfully organized at some point during my one year residency here -- with dellusions that by that evening I would have cleaned surfaces, sorted clothing, discarded the unused items and reorganized everything back into new homes. New homes in the closet.
But to construct first we must destruct. And boom! went my closet; all the products of the excavation process are strewn about my bedroom covering my entire bed and some of the floor.
Round one was successful at sorting, folding, hanging and generally getting stuff off the bed and back into the closet. Then round two started and I covered the bed yet again with another layer of stuff. Round one went to me, round two went to the mess.
So what do you do when your bed is covered with stuff and it's time to sleep? Stay up late into the night to finish the project? Hell no! Just forgo the bed and camp on the futon, of course.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Not Moving
It occurred to me last week that it was August. No big surprise to those of you who own calendars, I know. But I mean August. August. The month before school starts (or sometimes when it starts). The packing month, the planning month, the running around purchasing shit month. But most importantly, the upping roots and moving several hundred miles month.
And then it occurred to me that this year August wasn't August, it was just the end of summer.
This is the first time since 2001 that I have not packed and moved 100-300 miles. Through a quirk in my undergrad institution's housing regulations I had to move off campus for a minimum of four weeks every summer (even if I was doing an on campus internship) and take all my stuff with me. So every August while a student I moved back to campus from my father's house. Then there was an internship, then there was the ill fated bout of law school in Chicago and then last August we loaded the u-Haul and moseyed on over to Kalamazoo. And here I sit.
The concept of staying put was so awkward that I actually felt a bit nervous signing the lease renewal. My logical brain didn't want to pack and move when I didn't have to, but the part of me that does things by pattern and habit was wiggin out.
Thankfully the habit-happy side got a good ole dose of sedative when it realized that I can spend August finishing up all the summer projects I neglected in July.
... or at least that's the plan.
And then it occurred to me that this year August wasn't August, it was just the end of summer.
This is the first time since 2001 that I have not packed and moved 100-300 miles. Through a quirk in my undergrad institution's housing regulations I had to move off campus for a minimum of four weeks every summer (even if I was doing an on campus internship) and take all my stuff with me. So every August while a student I moved back to campus from my father's house. Then there was an internship, then there was the ill fated bout of law school in Chicago and then last August we loaded the u-Haul and moseyed on over to Kalamazoo. And here I sit.
The concept of staying put was so awkward that I actually felt a bit nervous signing the lease renewal. My logical brain didn't want to pack and move when I didn't have to, but the part of me that does things by pattern and habit was wiggin out.
Thankfully the habit-happy side got a good ole dose of sedative when it realized that I can spend August finishing up all the summer projects I neglected in July.
... or at least that's the plan.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
It's Back!
Project Runway (better than crack) has been off the air for far too long. Following a network switch and Bravo's attempt to fill the fashion hole with some awful piece of reality TV called "The Runway Show" which annoyed contests until they went away and viewers until they changed the channel, the real Project Runway returns tonight -- thankgoodness -- with host Heidi Klum and Tim Gunn, the loveable mentor who really makes the show, and all the designers and fashion critics that everyone loves to hate.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Is this a joke?
I was trolling online magazines looking for places to do my next round of submissions -- lately I've been finding a lot of nicely formatted magazines calling for submissions to their inaugural issue, is this the fruit of the Obama-hope-phenomena? -- when I found this magazine: Artifice.
Okay, great, another well formatted start up. But then I saw their wishlist. Is this really what they want? Is it a joke? A poetic expression mocking the notion of magazines even attempting to explain what they want?
I'm not certain.
Part of me wants to write a piece called "A Basic Guide to Science" or
stories or poems that involve folding or cutting the paper on which they are printed, because those sound like really intriguing challenges. And I probably will write such things ... and probably won't submit them. I really don't want to the the one idiot that didn't get the joke.
Okay, great, another well formatted start up. But then I saw their wishlist. Is this really what they want? Is it a joke? A poetic expression mocking the notion of magazines even attempting to explain what they want?
I'm not certain.
Part of me wants to write a piece called "A Basic Guide to Science" or
stories or poems that involve folding or cutting the paper on which they are printed, because those sound like really intriguing challenges. And I probably will write such things ... and probably won't submit them. I really don't want to the the one idiot that didn't get the joke.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Non Sequitur
There's nothing quite as strange and funny as watching grown men discover a bee hive.
As I sit at my computer I can see people walking around on the other side of the street. I see them squawk and suddenly sprint in a highly unrespectable manner but what I can't see from this distance is the itty-bitty bugs making them do all these weird theatrics.
So far I've watched the guy with the weed whacker swear and sprint and then two younger men who are working as part of the clean/repair crew turning over apartments to get the ready for their new tenants.
The hive appears to be inside of a freestanding utility box.
Average distance of sprint to escape a bee: 20 yards.
"I'm okay with like one bee," the guy shouts, "but that's a whole bunch of 'em!"
As I sit at my computer I can see people walking around on the other side of the street. I see them squawk and suddenly sprint in a highly unrespectable manner but what I can't see from this distance is the itty-bitty bugs making them do all these weird theatrics.
So far I've watched the guy with the weed whacker swear and sprint and then two younger men who are working as part of the clean/repair crew turning over apartments to get the ready for their new tenants.
The hive appears to be inside of a freestanding utility box.
Average distance of sprint to escape a bee: 20 yards.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Poetry Contest
POETRY CONTEST FOR A GOOD CAUSE
$10.00 contest donation fee
Two Winners (one from LA, one from anywhere else in the world) will receive 25% each of the donated money and 25 copies of a broadside designed using you poem.
Proceeds go to help Marla Gregg, a stroke survivor in recovery.
Deadline: September 15, 2009
http://marlasfriends.wordpress.com/poetry-contest/
HOW TO ENTER:
SNAILMAIL YOUR POEMS with a $10 entry fee for each poem to: Marla Gregg, 4100 Arch Drive #10, Studio City, CA 91604. Include your complete contact information, a paper copy of your poem (Postmarked by September 15) and a 100 words or less bio; please make check payable to MARLA GREGG, 4100 Arch Drive #10; Studio City, CA 91604.
K.E. OGDEN is the contest organizer. Ogden's poems and essays have been published in Slipstream, A.I.M., Phoebe, Radical Teacher, Teaching Tolerance, and most recently in Fringe. An alumna of the Teach for America program, she is a regular blogger for The Kenyon Review Online, an instructor for the Kenyon Review Young Writers Workshops, and was named Poet Laureate of Gambier, Ohio in 2008. Ogden has an MFA from the University of Alaska at Fairbanks and has been teaching writing and performance for over ten years.
Poetry Contest Judge to be announced!
BROADSIDES DESIGNED BY GRAPHIC ARTIST AND ILLUSTRATOR MATHEW DIGGES.
Mathew Digges has designed broadsides for Terry Wolverton, Brandon Cesmat, Sherilyn Lee, Joseph Bruchac, and more. He is former art director for Prism Review, the literary journal out of the University of La Verne, and he maintains the award-winning cartoon Sequential Life.
See website http://marlasfriends.wordpress.com/poetry-contest/ for further details, updates, and announcement of winners.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Ad of the Week
This one's worth watching in larger format.
From the makers:
Music: Johannes Stankowski - "Down Below"
From the makers:
This is the PEN Story in stop motion. We shot 60.000 pictures, developed 9.600 prints and shot over 1.800 pictures again. No post production! Thanks to all the stop motion artists who inspired us. ..
Music: Johannes Stankowski - "Down Below"
Friday, August 14, 2009
Book in Review: Hairstyles of the Damned
Finished Joe Meno's Hairstyles of the Damned today in a rush. (Book #30 in the 52 Book Year.) I've had the book for several months and finally ran up against the deadline that it absolutely had to be returned to the library. Since I had liked the first part so much I knew I absolutely had to read to the end before I gave it up.Set in 1991 Hairstyles of the Damned is a punk rock version of many of those movies about the 70s which depict how music defined what it was to be a teenager. It's not so much about how a mix tape can change your life but how much you really want that mix tape to change your life.
It was a little difficult for me to get into but Meno does some really lovely things with the voice and with the techniques he uses to tell the story. For example, there comes a point where you know that the protagonist has gotten his nose broken the day before but instead of giving us a play-by-play Meno writes the entire scene as if it's being rewound on a video tape. Awesome. Or as the narrator would tell us: fucking awesome.
Which brings me to the voice in this novel. It's narrated by a teenage boy and as such it's definitely not for people who are squimish around the word fuck. That said, it's an amazingly true to life narrative voice. I know that in a workshop someone would ask if all the swearing was necessary -- is it really adding anything to the piece? they would ask -- but it's so consistent and thorough, and it absolutely reminds me of the way I thought at a certain point in my life ... okay I still have a shitton of four letter words in my interior monologue but that's neither here nor there.
Sweet book.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
A Gentle Reminder
I woke up yesterday and walked into my bathroom only to step back and blink. The cat, Ash, had curled up in the round bowl of the sink and appeared to have been asleep there for a while.
Perhaps this is a gentle reminder that when the soap scum is soft enough to sleep on it's time to clean the bathroom.
Perhaps this is a gentle reminder that when the soap scum is soft enough to sleep on it's time to clean the bathroom.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Chicagoland Poetry Submissions Wanted
The following letter comes from the editors of the collection.
CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS
Nirala Publications (New Delhi/Kathmandu) has announced the forthcoming publication of Chicagoland Poets, the latest poetry anthology in a distinguished series that includes the poets of London, Paris, Amsterdam, and Berlin.
The 350-page anthology (including black/white and color images) will be edited by Illinois poets Robin Metz and Nina Corwin, and launched in Chicago, New York, Montréal, London, New Delhi, and Kathmandu for worldwide distribution. The series editor is Yuyutsu R.D. Sharma.
Nirala Publications is a prominent South Asian publishing house featuring established and emerging authors from India, Nepal, Europe, United Kingdom, North America, and an expanding range of international writers and artists.
Nirala also collaborates with several foreign publishers and institutes and publishes Pratik: A Magazine of Contemporary Writing.
Poets born or currently living in Chicago (or environs) may submit up to five poems of any length on any subject (including, especially, poems about Chicago and environs, or southeast Asia).
Poets not born or currently living in Chicago may also submit up to five poems on any subject related to Chicago (or environs).
While unpublished poems are preferred, previously published poems are welcomed. A statement indicating that the poet retains reprint rights should accompany each submission of previously published poems.
A brief biographical statement of 100 words (indicating the poet’s ties to Chicago, if applicable) should accompany the submission.
Deadline for submissions is August 31, 2009 and should be emailed to: treehouse523@sbcglobal.net in a single .doc or .rtf file with Chicagoland Poetry in the subject line OR addressed to: Chicagoland Poetry c/o Nina Corwin 523 S Plymouth Ct, Chicago, IL 60605. Please include SASE for reply only. MSS will not be returned.
Poets included in the anthology will receive a complimentary copy.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Worth Reading - Finds from the Online Lit Mag Scene and Beyond
Things I like and things I've seen all for free on the internet.
Short stories:
From anderbo.com: Samuel Patterson Stoddard's "The Common Cuckoo." I got to see this story started in workshop. I liked it then and I liked it now.
From Rumble Underground's Winter 2009 issue and winner of their short story contest: "The Thing with Feathers" by Evan Guilford-Blake. Heartbreaking.
Blog posts:
From agent Jessica Faust on the BookEnds blog: writing what you love and loving what you write, "Be True to You."
From Margosita on Trusting the Process while embarking on the MFA thesis project. You never hear the MFA process as a "hand holding" adventure -- surely if they promoted it that way few people would sign up -- but along with the educational aspects of an academic study of writing and the process of writing the MFA thesis project provides many helpful (possibly necessary) tool for completion of the first novel: a deadline, a support group, a mentor, a critic, an editor and someone who doesn't think you're weird when you freak out about the project.
Short stories:
From anderbo.com: Samuel Patterson Stoddard's "The Common Cuckoo." I got to see this story started in workshop. I liked it then and I liked it now.
From Rumble Underground's Winter 2009 issue and winner of their short story contest: "The Thing with Feathers" by Evan Guilford-Blake. Heartbreaking.
Blog posts:
From agent Jessica Faust on the BookEnds blog: writing what you love and loving what you write, "Be True to You."
From Margosita on Trusting the Process while embarking on the MFA thesis project. You never hear the MFA process as a "hand holding" adventure -- surely if they promoted it that way few people would sign up -- but along with the educational aspects of an academic study of writing and the process of writing the MFA thesis project provides many helpful (possibly necessary) tool for completion of the first novel: a deadline, a support group, a mentor, a critic, an editor and someone who doesn't think you're weird when you freak out about the project.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Corn Kernels, Corn Kernels Everywhere.
The corn chowder experiment was simultaneously success and ... not such a success. I chose to make corn chowder -- something I can't ever remember eating -- because it called for five ears of corn; no other recipe I found would use up that much corn as quickly and since waiting much longer would send my prior purchase of five ears of corn into the territory of Everclear Pure Grain Alcohol I decided that it was time to try corn chowder.
My mother loves Michigan sweetcorn. When I was a child she would coo and aw over it when she made it. If she saw a roadside stand on a country road in the month of July she'd make my father pull over. In my mind the best part of it wasn't the eating but the husking. My mother would set up a brown paper bag on the front steps of our house and bring out the ears of corn still in their green husks on a giant platter and we'd pull away the tight green leaves and send corn silk flying everywhere. The next morning I'd go out to play and there'd still be corn silk on the walk.
It was little wonder my mother never let us husk the corn in her kitchen, but I have no such luxury in my current apartment. Instead I tried my best to be careful and peeled off the husks over my kitchen trashcan. The cat, ever fascinated by this cooking-thing that takes my attention away from her, came to sit beside the trashcan and watch me. Most of the corn silk made it into the trashcan. I managed to sweep up that that floated away, but I have no idea what happened to all the corn silk that settled on the cat.
My next Herculean task was getting the corn off the cob.
Cutting corn off the cob looks so easy when they do it on Top Chef. Even under pressure and pressed for time they simply go woosh, woosh, woosh with the knife and the corn kernels are in the bowl. That is not how it actually works.
Corn kernels, corn kernels everywhere.
I thought I got them all but this morning I found one in the cat food bowl.
The little buggers do not fall simply to the board, they ping around everywhere. It's less like cutting a vegetable and more like releasing several hundred little springs. Cutting around a soft spot on the cob I cam across a handy little trick: slice off only the bottom half of the cob, then turn it upside down and do the other half so that the kernels don't have as much air time before hitting the board.
Sadly, I was already on the third ear of corn when I figured this out and even then it wasn't perfect so I stole a technique from my field hockey days. In field hockey when you're receiving a pass you tilt your stick forward, leaving the head of the stick on the ground and pushing the handle away from your body so that the ball is trapped by the acute angle of stick and ground. This is extremely important because if the angle is obtuse the ball (more often than not) rolls up your stick like it's a ramp. I've seen a girl get a black eye this way. Okay, okay, I gave a girl a black eye this way but it really wasn't my fault she had bad technique. Back to the corn cob: using the same principle I decided that as I sliced kernels off the bottom half of the cob I would tilt it at an angle making the distance between board and cob even shorter. It might not have been the best for "kitchen safety" but it was much, much better for kernel bombardment.
The chowder itself came out of the Better Homes & Gardens big-ass giant cookbook. You know the one I'm talking about. It's got a red plaid cover on it to look like a table cloth and though it's been updated that table cloth motif hasn't changed in 60 years. I call it the cooking bible because it lays down all the rules about everything, every basic that all other cooking books assume you know. I'm willing to bet that there's one in your kitchen that someone bought you when you (a) got married or (b) moved out on your own.
After all this process, you have to remember that I've never tried corn chowder. The verdict? Well ... it's okay. It tastes fine but I don't think vegetable chowders are my thing. Now clam chowder? Bring it on!
The last ingredient to go in the pot is three strips of crispy, crumbled up bacon. And let me say this, everything does indeed taste better with bacon.
My mother loves Michigan sweetcorn. When I was a child she would coo and aw over it when she made it. If she saw a roadside stand on a country road in the month of July she'd make my father pull over. In my mind the best part of it wasn't the eating but the husking. My mother would set up a brown paper bag on the front steps of our house and bring out the ears of corn still in their green husks on a giant platter and we'd pull away the tight green leaves and send corn silk flying everywhere. The next morning I'd go out to play and there'd still be corn silk on the walk.
It was little wonder my mother never let us husk the corn in her kitchen, but I have no such luxury in my current apartment. Instead I tried my best to be careful and peeled off the husks over my kitchen trashcan. The cat, ever fascinated by this cooking-thing that takes my attention away from her, came to sit beside the trashcan and watch me. Most of the corn silk made it into the trashcan. I managed to sweep up that that floated away, but I have no idea what happened to all the corn silk that settled on the cat.
My next Herculean task was getting the corn off the cob.
Cutting corn off the cob looks so easy when they do it on Top Chef. Even under pressure and pressed for time they simply go woosh, woosh, woosh with the knife and the corn kernels are in the bowl. That is not how it actually works.
Corn kernels, corn kernels everywhere.
I thought I got them all but this morning I found one in the cat food bowl.
The little buggers do not fall simply to the board, they ping around everywhere. It's less like cutting a vegetable and more like releasing several hundred little springs. Cutting around a soft spot on the cob I cam across a handy little trick: slice off only the bottom half of the cob, then turn it upside down and do the other half so that the kernels don't have as much air time before hitting the board.
Sadly, I was already on the third ear of corn when I figured this out and even then it wasn't perfect so I stole a technique from my field hockey days. In field hockey when you're receiving a pass you tilt your stick forward, leaving the head of the stick on the ground and pushing the handle away from your body so that the ball is trapped by the acute angle of stick and ground. This is extremely important because if the angle is obtuse the ball (more often than not) rolls up your stick like it's a ramp. I've seen a girl get a black eye this way. Okay, okay, I gave a girl a black eye this way but it really wasn't my fault she had bad technique. Back to the corn cob: using the same principle I decided that as I sliced kernels off the bottom half of the cob I would tilt it at an angle making the distance between board and cob even shorter. It might not have been the best for "kitchen safety" but it was much, much better for kernel bombardment.
The chowder itself came out of the Better Homes & Gardens big-ass giant cookbook. You know the one I'm talking about. It's got a red plaid cover on it to look like a table cloth and though it's been updated that table cloth motif hasn't changed in 60 years. I call it the cooking bible because it lays down all the rules about everything, every basic that all other cooking books assume you know. I'm willing to bet that there's one in your kitchen that someone bought you when you (a) got married or (b) moved out on your own.
After all this process, you have to remember that I've never tried corn chowder. The verdict? Well ... it's okay. It tastes fine but I don't think vegetable chowders are my thing. Now clam chowder? Bring it on!
The last ingredient to go in the pot is three strips of crispy, crumbled up bacon. And let me say this, everything does indeed taste better with bacon.
Saturday, August 08, 2009
Ad of the Week
This one has been airing on US TV for several months now but I still love the music in it. If it comes on and I'm standing (opposed to sitting like a lump on my couch) I end up dancing.
Edit: you can download the song, Daylight by Matt and Kim (as Jud so rightly attributed it) at greenlabelsound.com. And it's free!
Edit: you can download the song, Daylight by Matt and Kim (as Jud so rightly attributed it) at greenlabelsound.com. And it's free!
Friday, August 07, 2009
Julie & Julia
I saw the film Julie & Julia today. It was sweet and funny until almost the very end. Meryl Streep was great -- so was Amy Adams although Streep outshined her. See, I had to go see it because it's about this woman turning thirty, feeling lost, and finding a way to ground herself through cooking her way through all 500+ recipes in Julia Child's cookbook Mastering the Art of French Cooking, oh and then she blogs about it. So I ran out to see it the day it came out, even went by myself because I didn't want to wait to scrounge up someone to go with me.
I was ready to laugh, to smile, to maybe even cry a little. But most of all I was ready to feel inspired. I even had a grocery list in my purse so that I could return home and immediately continue with my cooking experiments. (I'm not doing too badly, btw, though I think my stir fry is becoming consistently worse.) Instead I left feeling rather devastated.
Nora Ephron (director and screenwriter) did a great job of establishing Julia Child as a lovable character. We really came to adore her and we went for the Julie's adoration hook, line and sinker. And then -- Bam! -- "Julia hates my blog ... she thinks it's disrespectful or something."
Oh the pain and the bewilderment. Putting people on pedestals is always dangerous to do, but it turns out that it's much, much easier to deal with them toppling off those pedestals than it is when they take a swipe at you from them. When they topple off you know they're human. When they take a swipe at you there's gravity helping to land a blow even harder.
I went to the store feeling sick and distraught. Sure, the character Julie pulls it together by the end of the film. Even leaves a gift on the shine of the Julia Child. But in the few minutes between the turn in the film and the credits rolling I had not pulled it together yet.
Still I shopped. Buying green peppers, an onion, and chicken broth to make corn chowder with the ears of corn that are quickly rotting in my crisper bin. I've never made corn chowder before but I'm eager to try it because it's new ... and because it'll use up all the corn quickly, before it gets any closer to Everclear. Also into my basket went talapia and a bottle of red wine. The fish is for tomorrow. The wine is to console my soul.
I'll let you know how the chowder goes.
I was ready to laugh, to smile, to maybe even cry a little. But most of all I was ready to feel inspired. I even had a grocery list in my purse so that I could return home and immediately continue with my cooking experiments. (I'm not doing too badly, btw, though I think my stir fry is becoming consistently worse.) Instead I left feeling rather devastated.
Nora Ephron (director and screenwriter) did a great job of establishing Julia Child as a lovable character. We really came to adore her and we went for the Julie's adoration hook, line and sinker. And then -- Bam! -- "Julia hates my blog ... she thinks it's disrespectful or something."
Oh the pain and the bewilderment. Putting people on pedestals is always dangerous to do, but it turns out that it's much, much easier to deal with them toppling off those pedestals than it is when they take a swipe at you from them. When they topple off you know they're human. When they take a swipe at you there's gravity helping to land a blow even harder.
I went to the store feeling sick and distraught. Sure, the character Julie pulls it together by the end of the film. Even leaves a gift on the shine of the Julia Child. But in the few minutes between the turn in the film and the credits rolling I had not pulled it together yet.
Still I shopped. Buying green peppers, an onion, and chicken broth to make corn chowder with the ears of corn that are quickly rotting in my crisper bin. I've never made corn chowder before but I'm eager to try it because it's new ... and because it'll use up all the corn quickly, before it gets any closer to Everclear. Also into my basket went talapia and a bottle of red wine. The fish is for tomorrow. The wine is to console my soul.
I'll let you know how the chowder goes.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
52 Book Year
I'm working my way through my goal of reading 52 novels and/or book length collections in 2009. Anyone else have a New Year's Resolution that they're still keeping up? Anyone else remember their resolutions? I know I had a second one but, short of going back through my blog, I can't recall what it was.
Book #28 of the year: What She Wants by Cathy Kelly.
If you have ever been confused about what the genre of "women's fiction" constitutes, read this book; What She Wants sits smack dab in the middle of the genre. The novel focuses on a married woman in her late thirties with two small children and that woman's friendships and relationships with her husband, her sister, the people she thinks are her friends and the people who end up becoming her true friends. "Women's Fiction" = all about the relationships ... and not in a predominantly romantic way.
The novel was charming, witty, and a nice 600 page diversion. Definitely a "summer" read though perhaps not as fluffy as I'd like for a "beach" read. The book didn't bear a book club sticker and I can see why: it was too enjoyable. To traverse into the world of book-club-ness the novel needs to have some darker theme that would upset you if you heard about it happening to your neighbor. The only time such a thing occurs in What She Wants is when a traditional Irish Catholic mother stops talking to her daughter because the daughter wants to marry a divorced man. And -- unless you're still upset about things like the reforms of Vatican II -- that's probably not upsetting to you.
One of the more enjoyable aspects is that the novel is set in Bath, London and the rural countryside of the County Kerry, Ireland. It's like a vacation where you don't have to sort your shampoo into three ounce bottles.
Book #28 of the year: What She Wants by Cathy Kelly.
If you have ever been confused about what the genre of "women's fiction" constitutes, read this book; What She Wants sits smack dab in the middle of the genre. The novel focuses on a married woman in her late thirties with two small children and that woman's friendships and relationships with her husband, her sister, the people she thinks are her friends and the people who end up becoming her true friends. "Women's Fiction" = all about the relationships ... and not in a predominantly romantic way.
The novel was charming, witty, and a nice 600 page diversion. Definitely a "summer" read though perhaps not as fluffy as I'd like for a "beach" read. The book didn't bear a book club sticker and I can see why: it was too enjoyable. To traverse into the world of book-club-ness the novel needs to have some darker theme that would upset you if you heard about it happening to your neighbor. The only time such a thing occurs in What She Wants is when a traditional Irish Catholic mother stops talking to her daughter because the daughter wants to marry a divorced man. And -- unless you're still upset about things like the reforms of Vatican II -- that's probably not upsetting to you.
One of the more enjoyable aspects is that the novel is set in Bath, London and the rural countryside of the County Kerry, Ireland. It's like a vacation where you don't have to sort your shampoo into three ounce bottles.
Monday, August 03, 2009
How Long Can You Go Without Checking Your Email?
I've been playing the I'm-not-gonna-check-it game. This game has it's roots in the I'm-not-touching-you game you played to torment your siblings in the backseat of the car and the I'm-not-looking-at-you game you played as a teenager trying not to be caught staring at the guy/girl you had a major crush on. [I'm-not-looking-at-you game also familiar to engineers and cats.]
I get on the internet, go to my iGoogle homepage, glance at the five most recent subject lines emails on the page and then move on. Occasionally I will open my email to read subject lines and senders looking for something that might be time sensitive. I don't really find anything that is though. So after reading subject lines, I log off before reading content. For the most part, I close down the entire computer in under 20 minutes. And I'm only doing this once a day. Practically unheard of in my world.
Read a great summer book -- What She Wants, by Cathy Kelly -- and spent quite a bit of time this past week thinking about cooking, baking, food and food preparation. I even bot potted herbs. Now I need to go out and get them a window box thingy to hang off my "French balcony" railing. If I had a non-French balcony I could just put them on the balcony. But the Frenchness means that it is just a safety rail attached to the side of the building to keep idiots from walking out of the sliding glass door and falling several stories onto the air conditioning unit. Idiots are safe, but the plants have no space.
All of this has been part of me not spending time on the internet or reading email. Which begs the question, how long can you go without checking your email?
I get on the internet, go to my iGoogle homepage, glance at the five most recent subject lines emails on the page and then move on. Occasionally I will open my email to read subject lines and senders looking for something that might be time sensitive. I don't really find anything that is though. So after reading subject lines, I log off before reading content. For the most part, I close down the entire computer in under 20 minutes. And I'm only doing this once a day. Practically unheard of in my world.
Read a great summer book -- What She Wants, by Cathy Kelly -- and spent quite a bit of time this past week thinking about cooking, baking, food and food preparation. I even bot potted herbs. Now I need to go out and get them a window box thingy to hang off my "French balcony" railing. If I had a non-French balcony I could just put them on the balcony. But the Frenchness means that it is just a safety rail attached to the side of the building to keep idiots from walking out of the sliding glass door and falling several stories onto the air conditioning unit. Idiots are safe, but the plants have no space.
All of this has been part of me not spending time on the internet or reading email. Which begs the question, how long can you go without checking your email?
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