Or A Little Photoshop Is A Dangerous Thing…
Or it might be, were I better at it.
Or A Little Photoshop Is A Dangerous Thing…
Or it might be, were I better at it.
…with your dinner and you would very much like Chef to be fired and some new talent brought in.
Last year, my husband produced an independent film called Blind Trust.
It’s the story of a young immigration attorney, who while trying to help his client, becomes embroiled with the cartel and finds his ideals compromised by the kind of money that can both destroy and heal.
It was an incredible experience shooting the film – I was able to work on the production as a media liaison, and I coordinated press and actually wrote the IMDB film blurb and a lot of the content on the website.
They were wrapping up production last summer and my husband was stressing over a lot of the last minute details of post-production, including finding a song to play over the end credits. The song needed to encompass the themes of the film without overtly tying into it. He had previewed hundreds of artist submissions and nothing was right.
We were sitting out on the porch one night, having a glass of wine and listening to some of the songs. He complained again that he couldn’t find the right song for what he needed.
Me (encouraged by a glass of wine): “I can write your song.”
My husband: “Sweetheart, I really appreciate that, but you’re not a song writer and I’ve had literally hundreds of submissions, by professional musicians and songwriters, and nothing is working.”
Me (grabbing a notepad and a pen). I start scribbling madly.
My husband: “Seriously. Don’t worry about it. I’ll find something.”
Me: scribble, scribble, scribble.
Me (30 minutes later): “what about this?”
My husband (reading): “That’s great. It’s really good. But I need a finished song.”
Me (getting up and going inside to get my computer.) “I just sent it to one of my musician friends. Let’s see what he can do.”
Fast forward to a week later. I get an email from my good friend, Jason Marcum, who I’d sent my lyrics to. He sent back a fully produced song. David loved it, the other producers loved it.
Fast forward two months later. Sitting at the premier, watching the credits roll, I not only saw my name once, as Digital Marketing Content Curator and Media Liaison, but a second time, as the words to my song played overhead to the 200 people watching enraptured as the movie ended, Angel Fortuna, by Kim Ferguson and Jason Marcum.
Now that was really cool.
OMG, I have to stop writing about food for this challenge. I’m perpetually hungry and can think of nothing but making and eating all the food that I’m writing about.
Today, we look at the humble handpie, or fried pie, another traditional Southern consumable.
In theory, the handpie can be savory (and is in many cuisines, such as the divine empanadas of Hispanic culinary culture) but in the Southern United States, it’s traditionally sweet.
A single portion: rolled out biscuit dough, an aromatic filling of spices and fresh fruits (plums, peaches, apples), a quick crimp ’round the corners and a fast fry in hot oil – drain and dust with powdered sugar or a cinnamon sugar blend – maybe a drizzle of icing glaze.
A hot, palate-intensive flash of concentrated fruit flavor surrounded by sweet, melt-y, crunchy, flakey, amazing – give me one, NOW.
I, for one, am ready for a handout.
“We must have a pie. Stress cannot exist in the presence of a pie.”
― David Mamet,
The city of Atlanta is shutting down for the weekend. Whoo hoo!
“Why?” you ask, innocent of the wide-spread hysteria that accompanies the mere mention of a snow flake in this Southern burg.
Because it’s raining and the temperature could drop below 30 degrees and we could get flurries.
Sometime after 10 p.m. tonight.
In prospect of this possible weather apocalypse, five hours from now, they closed the public schools around noon. All of the grocery stores have been wiped out of bread, milk and eggs in what must be mass anticipation of a day of French Toast making.
Yes, a mere day because the high tomorrow is forecast to be around 40 degrees and the high on Sunday nearing 50, so doubtful that anything with any potential to ice over will survive past Saturday afternoon.
Unless it’s that bottle of vodka in the freezer, and that might not make it to Sunday anyhow.
I could be wrong. I certainly don’t profess to be a master of meteorology.
Just in case, we’re stockpiled with booze, groceries and the makings for a huge breakfast.
My incredibly cool boss (who’s from Chicago and thinks Southerners are ridiculous when it comes to cold weather) told me and my sales assistant to take off early and “get ahead of any stupidity.”
So I’m at home, curled up with my computer and a glass of wine, waiting to see if we will get a little “wintry mix,” and enjoying my pretend Snow Day.
Hope you are warm and happy wherever you are!
When I tell people that I have a blog, they always want to know what I write about.
“What’s your category,” they say. “Humor|entertainment| pets| parenting|relationships|food|health and wellness|travel?”
It’s hard enough posting something/anything with any kind of regularity.
Describing my blog is difficult, perhaps it’s because I’ve never really had a theme beyond its name, Drunk on Life.
In a silly, sappy way that’s totally normal to my nature, that’s how most of me feels – that life itself is intoxicating – a giant glass of champagne, filled with bubbles of happiness,to be tossed back, quaffed, slurped down and savored.
But of course, the reality is that life isn’t always a sparkling nectar.
I’m wildly fortunate in so many ways, and I am truly grateful for all of the blessings in my life. I have a job and my health; a husband, parents and friends who love me; a home, two amazing fur kids, a car that runs, money in the bank.
It doesn’t stop me from bad days and stressful realities the same as anyone: the loss of a friend, feeling exhausted and alone, moments at work when I want to put my hands over my ears and start screaming, painful times when I fight with my husband, my car breaking down in an intersection and thinking I’m going to die, hearing a colleague saying something petty and nasty and unwarranted about me. Maybe it’s as simple as realizing I forgot to pay a bill last month; or it’s just one of those days when I’m a hot, hormonal mess, my jeans won’t zip up, my face breaks out and then my freakin’ dishwasher overflows suds all over my hardwood floors..
or when I try to write something/anything…
and nothing comes out.
Those are the times when instead of crying, I look through the pictures in my phone gallery or Instagram, pull up an old blog post, or scroll through albums on Facebook or real albums on the coffee table and remember wonderful, precious moments with the people I love. Walks on the Beltline with Sue and Laura. Barbeques and Ninja Turtle Burgers. Sunsets on the beach in Rosemary. Thanksgiving and Christmas. St. Patrick’s Day Dinners and Burn’s Suppers and “Screen on the Garage Door” movie nights. Hanging out with our parents. Hanging out with our cousins. Kitty hijinks. Clowning around. Dancing with my husband. Hugs and hand-holdings, a sweet text from a friend, jokes retold a thousand times, grins, giggles, laughing so hard you’re crying. Love.
And knowing that this is what really matters, ultimately, I find myself once again buzzed, wasted, snockered, giddy, tipsy on the life I have and the people in it.
And that’s what I try to share here, with you, the funny, charming, magical and wonderful moments that make it all worthwhile to me.
Cheers, Salud and Slàinte Mhath. Here’s to life.
“Life is a crazy mixture of intoxicating cocktails.”
― Ken Poirot
I’ve been MIA from writing for the past two months due to a soul-sucking work load that’s left me low on energy and short on words.
To be truthful, I am frightened of committing to NaBloPoMo and Team Pepper.
I’m scared I’ll never be able to write a post Every. Single. Day. for the 30 days of November.
I’m timorous of taking on too much work: I’m panicked that I’ll be too short on time to peruse other Pepper’s posts, I’m petrified I won’t write anything that anyone will find interesting. I’m even apprehensive of being a creative addition to the team.