A-touristing we shall go....

Touristing with Sean and I really ought to come with some sort of warning label.

"CAUTION: Touristing with this couple may cause your feet to fall off."

Or maybe, "WARNING: Proceed with tourist activities with Sean and Jillian at your own risk."

Or, "DANGER: These two individuals are not your standard tourists. If you have any injuries which may preclude you from running a marathon, the Surgeon General of the United States advises against proceeding further."

Sean's friend flew out from Phoenix, and we met him in Washington D.C. for a long weekend (yes, it was a long jaunt for him, but Southwest Airlines fare sales are not to be ignored). 

Now, Jeff is no fool. He visited us in Japan when we lived there, and we warned him to bring his most comfortable shoes because we were going to be walking to the back of beyond--and back again.  He kind of grinned at this statement at first, but dag gum it...we walked that grin right off his face.

The Washington Monument. Smithsonian Castle on the left.

I've gained quite a bit of weight since returning from Japan, but because of the wonder that is Crocs (no, not the fugly ones that look like clogs--and "fugly" is not a typo, don't ask me to explain it--but the cute ones that look like mary janes or ballet flats or sandals), I can still pull off 6-10 mile days without too much pain. Or so I thought. I always bring my two most comfortable pairs of walking shoes, which fit differently. That way, if one rubs me and gives me blisters on one day, I switch it out to the other pair the next to give myself a break--or sometimes I carry the secondary pair with me. And I always load up on a bunch of band-aids and pass them out like candy to everyone in our party.

We met up with a friend of mine who lives in DC and had a relatively easy first evening. We probably only logged 4-5 miles. It would have been less, but we got off at the wrong metro stop. We viewed the Washington Monument and the Capitol at sunset on the way to the hotel, and then in full dark on our walk back to meet with my friend. 

The Capitol Building

The next day.... well, the next day felt fairly epic. Being in DC on Veteran's Day is an experience in and of itself. We started out in Arlington National Cemetery and walked as far as we could, even though the whole place was on relative lockdown due to Secret Service security before the President came to lay a wreath at the  Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers. We looked at the crowds gathering to take the shuttle up to the Tomb and decided that as cool as it would be to see the President at the ceremony, we didn't feel like being jammed in with 5,000 of our closest friends for nearly 3 hours for a 20-minute ceremony. Instead, we walked as far as they would let us before we felt moderately intimidated by an MP squad of Marines in full dress blues. 

Arlington National Cemetery

Then we walked back down through Arlington and crossed the bridge to the National Mall and Mr. Abe Lincoln himself. Right about then is when we saw the Presidential Motorcade whipping through the streets. We were talking about it later, and it really probably would have been cheaper to have the President come in on Marine One rather than shutting down the motorcade route and pulling the Marines, the Police, and the Secret Service into the mix, but then we realized there's really nowhere in Arlington to land a helicopter. 

We took in the crowds around the Vietnam Wall and decided to hit it later, then squeezed in to see Lincoln with our fellow patriots. Sean had gone for a six-mile run around the Mall in the morning around dawn, and he convinced us that doing the Mall and the Tidal Basin at dawn meant that we'd be sharing the monuments with four of our closest friends, not 4000. Not being a morning person, I really didn't want to consider the dawn jaunt...but then Sean showed me some pictures on his phone from the run, and I decided he was right.

Washington Monument at dawn 

Washington Monument pre-dawn

So, we trekked to the nearest metro station--which happened to be named Foggy Bottom, isn't that cool?--about two miles away, to meet up with my friend again in Friendship Heights for lunch. After another long walk from the metro station, it's a darn good thing Pete's New Haven Style Pizza was as tasty as Kirstin promised. At this point, we're about 5 miles into our day.

And then the conversation went something like this:

Sean - "How far away is the zoo from here?"

Kirstin - "Close-ish. Just a couple of metro stops. Did you want to walk, or take the metro?"

Sean - "I'm always up for walking. Let's walk."

Jeff and I exchange loaded looks of foreboding and doom. 

Somewhat reassured by Kirstin's statement that the zoo was "just down the hill," we began trekking in the general direction. Kirstin kept us moving on mostly level or downhill areas, so that was good. And she took us through some really scenic neighborhood. But one and a half miles in, I was starting to wonder just how far "down the hill" is. And then we came to another metro station, and the conversation again went something like this: 

Kirstin - "Do you guys want to keep walking, or take the metro?"

Sean - "How far away is it?"

Kirstin - "The entrance is between two metro stops, so it depends on which one you want to go to. So just one or two more stops. It's close-ish."

Sean, after looking at Jeff and I - "Let's walk."

Jeff and I  shift painfully from foot to foot and exchange glances of foreboding and doom.

A mile later, and Kirstin says we're "close-ish." By this time, we're starting to razz her. We figure our breakdown in communication lies in our relative understanding of the distance between metro stops. Sean and I--being used to NYC subways--figured two stops would be something like a mile, maybe a mile and half. Not three. One mile = close-ish. Three miles = take the metro.

And by now, Jeff is lagging a bit but trying not to show it. I'm lagging a bit and trying not to show it, but Sean must have a radar, because he drops back to ask me how I'm doing. At this point, my right foot is radiating pain into my toes, and the pad of the foot feels like I'm walking on bone, not muscle and skin. 

Tien Tien, the male panda

"I'm mostly fine," I say, "but do you have any Advil in your bag?" He doesn't. I say that it's fine, I'll power through anyway. But another block down, and the pain is excruciating. I went from legitimately being "mostly fine" to feeling like I have to amputate my foot. Luckily, there's a Walgreens, so I go in and buy some pills and a soda and dope myself up. I never dope up on pain meds of any kind, so that in itself is a signal of severity.

Then it's half a mile to the zoo. Then it's walking around and around the zoo. I'm trying not to limp. For whatever reason, it's just my right foot. Sean swears he's a little sore, too, but ironically he's doing the best out of all of us--even after his 6 mile run. Jeff is starting to sit down on any benches that present themselves when it appears that we're going to be stationary for more than 30 seconds. I'm afraid to sit down, because I don't know if I'll make it back up.

We finally call it quits in the zoo and hike back up the hill. Jeff suggests eating at the frozen yogurt place across from the entrance. I don't think anyone was very hungry, but I readily agree because I. am. in. so. much. friggin'. pain. 

Washed-out White House

We take our time at the yogurt shop and end up sitting for close to 40 minutes. At this point, we're on mile 9 or so. The pills are kicking in and the sitting has done me good, so when we get up, I'm the one that suggests we walk to the White House. I ignore Jeff's look of foreboding and doom. 

Half a mile down the road, and I'm fantasizing about chewing off my foot at the ankle. But I'm the one that suggested this trek, so I'm gonna suffer in silence, dammit. We make it to the White House and "ooh" and "ahh," then make our way back to the Mall. We stop in at a Cosi for coffee and the bathrooms, and Jeff again sacks out on a chair. After limping back from washing my hands, I join him. Sean is already there.

Coffees in hand, we head back out to the Mall. We walk down the length--which is pretty long on its own. We hit the Vietnam Wall, and I don't even want to walk the length of it--I say it's dark and I've seen it before, but the truth is, I'm still fantasizing about cutting off my foot. We're on mile 10, easy. Possibly even 12.

Washington Monument at dark

Then we cruise over to Lincoln and see him again at night from a distance, and take some awesome pictures of the Washington Monument. This is when Sean starts saying that it's really worth it to come in at dawn, and I'm starting to believe him, just because I don't want to walk the rest of the way. Then Jeff says that he's game to walk it all tonight AND tomorrow if we want to... he'll be fine.

So we cruise on over to the Korean War Memorial, then across the street to the Tidal Basin to peek in on MLK. We stop at the restrooms, and Jeff sacks out on a bench. It's obvious that he's in a lot of pain, and I'm cycling in and out of it. In the restroom, I tell Kirstin that I think we need to cut it short and find out where to eat dinner. When we get outside, Sean and I do one of those silent communication things that only married people on the same wavelength can pull off, and he agrees. So, we go see MLK since he's right there. As we're walking, I realize that I'm doing this as much for me as for Jeff, because dammit, pain is not supposed to spike up my toes like this. 

We see MLK and accidentally photo bomb some people, then head back to the far side of the Mall to try and find dinner. Halfway through, we give up and try to find a taxi. We finally find one, ask the driver to drop us off at a usually busy intersection, and when we get to the intersection to find food.....everything is closed. Sunday night off the Mall on Veteran's Day, and not an open eatery to be found--for under $60/plate. So we walk for four more blocks before we dive into an open joint. It's not even 7:30, but it feels like midnight. Jeff is dead on his feet, and just wants to go to bed. He encourages us to stay out, but none of us want to, either. As much pain as I'm in, I'm somewhat used to it. If he's on Phoenix time and just wants to go to bed, I know he's in serious pain.

So, though the metro stop is legitimately close (the joke of the weekend became adding "-ish" to the end of words to sarcastically indicate the opposite... "close-ish" for really far, "fun-ish" for misery, etc.), we hail the first cab we can find and ride it back to the hotel. We rationalize that splitting the cab fare three ways actually ends up cheaper than three metro tickets. 

Jeff heads up to the room immediately while Sean and I stop in the sundry shop for something sweet and some drinks. By the time we get up to the room, he's ready for bed and just waiting to climb in. 8:30 PM in Washington DC, and he's out like a light. 

Washington Monument at dawn, day 2

I end up being awake the longest. I beat both of the boys by more than an hour, and am ironically the second one up before dawn--Sean, of course, was first. We take a cab back down to Lincoln and walk the mall at dawn. I just have to get out of the car and see the sun starting to rise, the empty mall, and smell the fresh air to think, "this is so worth it."

So anyway, you're getting the point, I'm sure. We walk Lincoln and Korea and MLK and FDR and Jefferson and back to our hotel. And after Jefferson, it's becoming obvious that my right foot is fine, but now my left foot is spiking pain. But I say that walking back to the hotel is fine, even though we're already on two miles, and it's at least two miles back. I tough it out because it's a gorgeous day, but by the time we get back to the hotel, I can't hide my limp. 

So after all this walking, and the laps we did of Union Station and the Baltimore airport, when I was no longer trying to hide the fact that I was in pain... I'm feeling pretty low about myself that I'm wussing out after all this walking.

Jefferson Memorial at dawn on the Tidal Basin

Tidal Basin at dawn

Well, it turns out it's a legit problem, and not just because I'm out of shape. Apparently there's some sort of nerve bundle in that part of my foot that might need some form of surgery--so good news that I'm not just a wuss, but bad news on the whole nerve bundle thing.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial at dawn

Kirstin texted me that she could feel all of our trekking in her hip the next day--and we were 5 miles in before we met up with her.  Jeff was still recuperating himself. He spent a good deal of time rubbing his knee. The only person that appeared mostly unscathed was Sean. Of course. 

In fact, he just came to say goodnight, and peeked over my shoulder.

"You have me intrigued by your warnings at the top," he said.

"Yeah, I figured they're pretty accurate," I replied.

"Did you tell them about 'close-ish'?" he asked.

"Yeah, I did," I said.

"What about Marriott coffee?" 

I shuddered. "No, I didn't tell them about Marriott coffee. The post is getting really long, and besides.... it's not supposed to be a horror story."

He laughed. "True. Are you coming up to bed?"

"Soon-ish," I say.

OMG! That's an iPhone cake? LOL!

A couple of months ago, a friend at work sent me a link to a picture she had found on Pinterest (believe it or not, I have never been on Pinterest. I also don't have a Twitter account, and I barely check my Facebook. Oh, and I still don't know what tumblr is. Yeah. I guess I'm "lame" like that). It was a bunch of cute-as-a-button iPhone cupcakes, arranged in a grid against a patterned background to suggest it was the screen of an iPhone, and each cupcake was a little app. If such technology could be cute, it was cute.

So that got me thinking that I wanted to do an iPhone cake for Sean's birthday. I looked online and googled iPhone cake images, and I was disappointed in the number of cakes that used edible paper and food-grade ink to just print the iPhone screen and lay it on top of fondant. I mean, I could rally on about how such cakes don't use artistry or skill, but really, it was more the fact that I don't have one of those printers, edible paper, or food-grade ink. So I totally couldn't do that even if I wanted to. Which I didn't. Even though it would be easier and more accurate than hand-shaped apps. Meh. Actually, I'm kind of glad that I don't have edible paper and food-grade ink. I might have caved to temptation.

I did find a couple that made little app buttons out of fondant, so I knew there was hope.

The truth of the matter, though, is that after a week of intense baking and my day job (not to mention that it was also a week of intense baking failures), I had kind of lost all enthusiasm for baking the cake. In fact, I might have backed out if I hadn't already sneakily arranged for Sean to be booked in a "meeting" at work with his team so that I could pounce on him with the cake and embarrass him with an off-tune chorus of "Happy Birthday".

For once, I used regular rolled fondant instead of making my own marshmallow fondant. I just didn't have the gumption. Because I work from home, I was able to make the cake and have it done and cleaned up before Sean got home--but only because it was a slow day at work.

And man alive...I honestly feel like this is my favorite cake to date. Really. I love it. First cake that I didn't want anyone to cut.

Cool, right? So cool, it's like I wasn't even the one to make it. It's got the Settings app cog wheel! Maps app! The Safari compass! Volume buttons on the side, the headphone jack and switch on top, and the charging point on the bottom! C'mon... if you have an iPhone, please tell me you can recognize a lot of these!

Oh, sure. There are things I would do differently. I would make the background a lighter color of grey. I would use less water to clean the powdered sugar off the fondant so that it wasn't so shiny (though it WAS less shiny after chilling out all night. These photos were taken approximately 30 seconds after completion).

And Sean was surprised, so that part of it was a success. He figured something might be going on when his team asked him to come into the meeting, but he didn't expect me there, or the iPhone cake of Awesomeness.

He gawked at it for a little bit, afraid to cut it--and gawking was fine, because everyone was crowding in to get pictures before it was destroyed.

"Well," he said, once he finally took the plunge, "at least it makes for good portion control. Who wants what app?"

(I got the photo album sunflower.)

I wonder if there's a niche market just for iPhone cakes...

Hap-bee Halloween!

When I was little, I LOVED Halloween. I would drag out the big box of decorations from the hallway closet and decorate the house. We lived in the country, though, so we never got trick-or-treaters...and mom always shuttled me into my grandma's neighborhood, or one down in town.

As I've gotten older, I don't have the same love of Halloween as I did when I was little. I HATE slasher movies (hate, hate, hate, hate them), don't really like supernatural/spooky movies (kinda hate them, too), and roll my eyes a little bit when I drive past the houses with miles of fake spider webs and a whole graveyard in the front yard.

I do love autumn, though, and I feel like a little celebration of Halloween is always fun. So, earlier this week, I carved this:

Not a traditional jack-o-lantern, but I had fun making it. I used an X-acto knife, a $2 pumpkin knife from Michael's, and--believe it or not--a jumbo open-star frosting tip.

And then I made this:

mmmmmm......braaaaaiiiiiiiins......

And this:

Mummy!

Some cute, non-scary Halloween-themed cupcakes for my husband's Halloween-themed office party.

And then, I dressed up my long-suffering dog like this, and told him to bee a good dog:

Aw! So cute!

Hap-bee Halloween!

60 Sucks...the Epic Fail Resolution

So, remember how in my last post I was writing it at 2:30 in the morning because I had the epic fail of awesomeness with the stacked cake, so I was going to make a sheet cake?

Well, the sheet cake was also an epic fail. The client wanted half chocolate, half vanilla together in one cake. And I knew... I KNEW as soon as I started frosting that it wasn't going to work. When the chocolate cake started pulling apart during the crumb coat, not the actual frosting... I knew I was doomed, but I tried to persevere, anyway.

And the weird thing is that on both the sheet cake and stacked cake, it was the chocolate cake that failed. The vanilla was fine. So, apparently, I need to revisit that particular recipe.

So, at about 3:30 in the morning, I finally broke down, searching through my pantry in tears for magical Option #3. When I came across the marshmallows, I knew I had it. I made marshmallow fondant, and after a few failed attempts to make badges for cupcakes with NY Mets colors of orange, white, and blue, I finally dyed the fondant orange, and used white icing to pipe "60" and blue icing to pipe "Sucks!"

See, it was a surprise 60th birthday party, and they wanted "60 Sucks!" with a bunch of lollipops as a cake topper. Tongue-in-cheek cute, right? Or maybe back-handedly insulting? Either way, it was a close group of people, and they thought it would be hilarious. I ended up sticking a blue and orange Tootsie Pop mini sucker (with white writing on the labels! Mets colors!) on the top of every cupcake, so they looked like this:


I had gone to bed at 5:30 in the morning with the plan to sleep until about 8, but then, ironically, I couldn't really get to sleep. At 8, I texted the client, telling her that the cake gods were really, really angry with me.

She replied, "Fire and brimstone angry?"

I explained the situation as succinctly as I could, aided in large part by sending her the photo of the epic fail. Then I told her that cake #2 also failed, so I made badges for cupcakes (sent pic) and was willing to provide 24 to 36 cupcakes for free, and lend her any cupcake display equipment that I had. She was okay with that--even insisted on paying me anyway--and so I got up, went to the store for eggs, shortening, and cocoa powder (somehow I  had run out during the night, imagine that), and got to work baking.

For once, everything turned out fine--and worked the first time.

She sent me a photo from the party, and said that everyone loved the cupcakes. I think cupcakes are kind of more fun at casual parties anyway--but of course I would think that after the night that I had!

Early in the Evening of Failure, before things started to go bad, I had told Sean that my sister texted me to tell me that she thought the Sweet 13 post was hilarious, because she could imagine Sean trying to duck and cover. 

"She asked if you minded being the comic relief," I said.

"And what did you say?" he asked.

"I said that you didn't mind because you never really read my blog, but I had told you that you were the comic relief, and that sometimes you peek over my shoulder at what I'm writing. And I only (mostly) tell the truth, anyway."

"Mostly?"

"Yeah, well, in the football helmet one I posted a hypothetical conversation where we were talking about football, and since I root for the perceived underdogs, I asked you which defensive line was smaller, and you said, 'what's a defensive line?' "

He just kind of looked at me.

I said, "I know, I know, that's probably unfair. You know what a defensive line is. Probably even better than I do."

He said, "Yes. It's a line. They get very defensive. They really don't take criticism very well."

I started laughing so hard I was crying, and then he was laughing at me laughing so hard that I was crying, that he started to cry.  I kept trying to stop and get control of myself, but then would say, "they don't take criticism very well! Haaaaa!" and I would snort and be off laughing again. The whole thing lasted for about 10 minutes.

So in case you didn't know what a defensive line in football is, it's a bunch of big, angry men, all lined up--who happen to not take criticism very well!

Ugh. Epic Fail.

Ugh.

Do you ever have one of those days where people ask you how you're doing, and you don't even want to expend the effort that it would take to answer in actual words?

That's how I feel. It's a grunting kind of night. Morning. Whatever.

Here's the deal. It's 2:30 in the morning and I'm writing a post because I'm waiting for cakes to cool.

Why am I waiting for cakes at 2:30 in the morning? Why didn't I have them done earlier?

Well, I did, you see.  I had a lot of them done earlier.  And then this happened.

Ugh.

Yeah. That's three layers of cake awesomeness. And by "awesomeness," I mean "awesomely horrible and catastrophic to a degree that there are no words to further describe it."

It's supposed to be a stacked, three-tier cake with berry filling. Although now that bottom layer kind of looks like a pile of diseased poo carnage.... aren't you glad I just put that image in your head?

I was plagued with problems from the beginning, and the thing is, I can't even figure what went wrong. Besides everything, I mean. Obviously, everything went wrong, but what was the crucial first step? My stacked cake the other day turned out fine. The wedding cake that I stacked this summer turned out fine. I would say "WTF" right about now, but I'm pretty sure my grandma reads my blog, and I'm not sure I want to say "WTF" knowing that she'll see it.

I nearly broke down (a couple of times, actually). But I have my TobyMac music on in the background as loud as it can be with my husband sleeping upstairs, and Toby's keeping me tear-free and bee-bopping around the kitchen. It's another one of my "worst is relative" moments... if this is the worst thing that happens to me this week, I'm ahead of 99.8% of the world. I can handle that.

So, right now I have sheet cakes cooling. I've made the frosting, I have the filling ready. I'll post pictures of the finished--and much downsized--final product tomorrow. Hopefully the client (who is a new one, ironically enough) is chill and won't mind a sudden change in plan--and hopefully nothing goes wrong with the sheet cakes. I could do this tomorrow, but I still have a day job that expects me to show up and put in my time... slave-drivers.

And yeah, to my friend who always lets me know what she thinks of my blog posts--you know who you are--I realize that Sean did not make an appearance in this entry. Hopefully there's enough comedic relief without him.

Oh, and I suppose the day wasn't a total cakey waste. I had a lot of leftover goods from the masterfully epic fail of awesomeness above, so I made this cake for my neighbors in about 15 minutes to thank them for all the yard work they've done for us. I didn't tell them that my writing/scrolling icing also failed. Or that it was made of leftover bits from the other cake. Or that the chocolate leaves have been in our fridge for a while because they were from an aborted birthday cupcake batch. Not my best work, but--as I'm reminded as I look at my kitchen island right now--it's nowhere NEAR my worst.

Sweet...13?

So, I have to admit to an embarrassing truth. Nearly all of my official orders come from one woman. She works with Sean and has a fairly large family, so she usually dials me up for birthdays or other important gigs. I'm grateful for her business, but part of me wishes that I could expand more easily. Wait, what? You're telling me I have to do things like advertise and market and stuff? Oh. Okay. Never mind, for now. 

Anyway, this uber-loyal customer contacted me for her daughter's 13th birthday. As we stood in the parking lot near our cars when I delivered her son's New York Giants helmet cake, she told me that she thought she should make sort of a big deal of this birthday, because it was her 13th. When I commented that I didn't have a big deal made of my 13th birthday--or even my 16th--she agreed with me. But she still wanted to go all-out. Who was I to deny her?

She said that she wanted a stacked cake with zebra print and a funky neon green bow on top, and left the rest of it up to me. I'd never done a fondant bow before, but the online how-tos seemed pretty easy. I got the whole cake done fairly easily, using sugar sheet zebra print to save time (and thus money) for the zebra motif. And the bow I made out of marshmallow fondant. About three of my bow loops cracked and died a premature death before I could get them on the cake. I got the whole thing done and stood back to take pictures, zooming in from different angles. When I looked at the pictures to see how they turned out, the bow was wonky and...stupid. 

Something about pictures makes the subject more objective. Like, looking at it on the little digital screen allowed me to see flaws that I couldn't necessarily see when I was up-close and personal. I turned to my husband across the room.

"This bow sucks, doesn't it?" I asked, already irritated and oozing be careful what you say vibes. 

"What do you mean?" he responded. "It depends on what you're going for."

I stood there, simultaneously gaping at him, tamping down irrational anger, and shooting him a venom-laced look of death.

"What I'm going for?" I hissed in a (reasonably) restrained voice. "What do you mean, what I'm going for?" 

He looked at me, suddenly aware that he was on thin ice. 

"Well, uh, I mean, if you're going for the super-deluxe, luxurious, 5-layer bow, then it's not. But if you're just going for a funky bow, it is." His eyes were wide as he looked back at me, waiting to see if he needed to duck and cover or if he could stand his ground.

I continued to glare at him, and then realized how foolish and how stereotypically hormonally female I was being. I willed myself to GET A GRIP and decompress.

"Could you see how deep you were shoveling that hole of yours the more that you kept talking?" I asked him with a (hopefully) self-deprecating smile.

"Yeah" he said tentatively, obviously still unsure if he was still skating on thin ice. "That's why I decided that I had just better shut up."

I let him escape in relief as I tweaked the bow a bit by pushing some parts in, pulling some parts out, and yada yada yada. It turned out fine. After all, I wasn't going after a "super deluxe, luxurious, 5-layer bow." All I needed was "funky." Mission accomplished. 

Give me an N! Give me a Y! What does that spell? Football!

When people ask me if I'm a Broncos fan, or a Cowboys Fan, or  Steelers fan, or whatever, my usual response is, "Uh, I don't really follow any sports, but I can be if you want me to be." When pressed, I'll say that I'll root for the Patriots, generally--because it makes me feel patriotic. Or the Ravens, because of that movie The Blind Side. But really, the only time football is on in my house is normally as background noise in the fall, because it reminds me of my dad.  If I have to root for someone,  I usually just choose whoever's defensive line looks smallest, because they feel like the underdogs.

My husband, bless his soul, cares even less about sports than I do. For instance, if I said, "Hey, do you know whose defensive line is smaller?" his reply might be something like, "Um... what's a defensive line?"

He has many other redeeming qualities, though. To illustrate: last weekend we took a day trip to look at foliage and hunt down some covered bridges in Vermont. We went to lunch, then walked into a co-op art gallery downtown with my parents. The long-haired, bearded, tie-dye-garbed guy behind the counter squinted at Sean for a few seconds, and then said, "Hey. Has anyone ever told you that you look like Ryan Gosling?"

Sean looked startled for a second, then looked at me, then laughed and said, "Actually....yes."

The first time it happened, it was a little old lady at the grocery store or somewhere. So when I told him that of course I always knew he was good looking, and even strangers agreed with me, he was able to shrug it off and say that she probably needed new glasses.

Hard to come up with that excuse for the young tie-dyed hippie man behind the counter, though.

"Or a little bit like Ryan Reynolds, too," hippie man said.  "Like a famous Ryan combo!" Sean and I squinted at each other. Ryan Gosling, ok. That's rooted in truth. But Ryan Reynolds? Not so much.

And my dad really helped. As we were leaving, he said, "Who did that guy say Sean looked like?"

"Ryan Gosling," I responded.

"Who is Ryan Gosling?" he asked.

So anyway, to recap--I just said that my husband's passing resemblance to Ryan Gosling is a redeeming quality for not caring about sports. That both suggests that not caring about sports is something for which redemption is necessary, and that I am shallow enough to accept good looks and relative hotness as said redemption. I don't really feel like either is true, but meh--it makes a good story. (Plus, I've been told by a regular reader that I can't publish any more posts without including Sean as comic relief--so that's naturally going to result in some non-sequiteur stories.)

My original point was that I'm so out of touch with sports that when someone asked if I could make a flat cake shaped like a New York Giant's helmet, I had to do a Google image search and check out the logo first, before I gave an answer. When I saw that the logo was a simple NY on a blue helmet with a red stripe, I said yes.

I printed the logo out on regular paper, then cut it out on top of marshmallow fondant with an Xacto knife. With the exception of the NY, everything else is buttercream. To get the smooth effect, I did the classic coat, chill, and smooth with a Viva paper towel. It works, people. It really works.

I would really love to post the picture of the birthday boy enjoying his cake, but it's against my morals to post other people's kids on a public blog. Let's just say that the little boy was SMEARED with blue, and had to make an immediate trip to the bathtub before he turned smurf-like. You know frosting is kid-rated good when it turns your mouth (and your hands, and your face) blue!