Having your cake

Z and I went to our first cake tasting on Saturday. The cake maker was someone that one of my stepmum's patients had recommended and we were pretty excited because the cake was actually affordable. Plus, free cake! I mean, really, what could be bad about free cake?

Well, it turns out that lots can be bad about free cake. We arrived right on time, astonishing considering that we had to budget for the vagaries of bridge and 101 traffic. And we didn't even have to do a single u-turn. Things were looking good.

We were shown past the ceramic cherubs on the front porch into the baker's commercial-grade kitchen at her house. She asked us all sorts of questions about the kind of cake we want - flavors, design, how many tiers, what kind of frosting, flowers or not, etc.. To all of these questions we provided answers laden with uh's, er's, um's and we think's. Yeah, we had no clue.

Then she brought out the cake - four different kinds plus two small tubs of frosting. There was carrot, lemon, white and chocolate, plus chocolate chip and custard frostings. All of the cakes had different fillings. They all tasted like ass. And let me tell you, there's only one thing worse than eating bad cake: eating bad cake while seated two feet from the person who made the cake, a person who is intently watching your every move. In a valiant attempt to be nice, Z asked me which cake I liked best. For the record, this tactic was only nice to the cake maker and incredibly un-nice to me. I stuttered something about the lemon because it actually had flavor. My all-time favorite kind of cake is chocolate and raspberry. Knowing this, Z had asked the cake maker to bake us such a sampling. I have never tasted such raspberryless raspberry frosting. Blech! While we sampled and muttered, "Mmm's" the cake maker talked about how much she loved baking - she's been making cakes for 29 years. Her husband recently began to talk about retirement but, she explained, she can't imagine not making cakes. It's really what she loves to do. It's a pity that her cakes suck.

To be fair, I'm sure that there's someone out there who probably loves that kind of cake. We are not those someones. As we left, we agreed that were we to be given a slice of such a cake at a wedding, we would take one bite and put it down.

As we finished nibles, she asked us if we would like to take the remainder of the cake with us. Zack shot me a look and said yes - we couldn't really say, "No, ma'am, because we think your cake sucks.". Later that night, we brought the cake out for Z's sister and brother-in-law. Everyone agreed that equivalent cake can be found in your local Safeway deli section. I guess you pay for what you get - meaning that we're going to be paying a lot more for cake.

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On an entirely different note, I overheard the following while walking across campus today:

There's a difference between starting a war and starting a holocaust.

Adding the word, "Discuss" to the end of this would make for a great essay test question.

The List

Again last night, for probably the twentieth night in a row, I had trouble falling asleep; my mind was clinging to The List. The List contains all the things that need to get done between last week and October. Items get added to it at a far faster rate than they get removed resulting in what feels like exponential growth. Come to think of it, it probably is growing exponentially because every single item added triggers a small landslide of other items that Must Be Done. It is so overwhelming that sometimes when I think about it, I get the mental equivalent of the Blue Screen of Death. It's either that or I achieve sudden Enlightenment, though the severe back, jaw and neck tension seem to indicate the former. Some malfunctioning part of my brain seems caught in an eternal loop through the items, repeating them to ward against forgetfulness. Z appears to have the same problem, at least when he's not snoring. Last night I suggested that it might be helpful if we wrote everything down. He laughed, pointing out that it is about a billion items long. The world does not contain that many post-it notes and we do not have enough wall space.

I usually try to replace thoughts of The List with images from an imagined life after October - an after-life of sorts. I usually place myself on a warm beach under a warm sun next to a warm ocean. Invariably, something in these images takes me back to The List. For example, Z leans over to rub sunscreen into my back as the birds sing and--- don'tforgettoaddsunscreentothepackinglist which reminds me that weshouldgetourwebpageregisterysiteforourhoneymoonup and before I know it, I've left the serenity of the beach and am instead scrolling through a list of wedding guest accomodation options.

I cannot wait for October. How all this shit is going to get done between now and then is anybody's guess. Sometimes I'm reassured by the fact that it will all get done because, quite simply, it has to. At other times, I can't see how I'm going to complete next week's assignments, let alone my entire thesis. I find myself doing things like walking Kaya up the hill chanting, "I have so much to do, I have so much to do, I have so much to do." This is not helpful at all.

Perhaps it's time to rediscover all those meditation practices that I grew up with. It's definitely time for something - perhaps another cup of tea.