Weekly Life Plan

I don't know how I'm going to die, but I'm pretty sure my eventual death could have been easily avoided by the use of common sense. To that end, I've always thought I might end up the tragic victim of a suspect cult. My natural weak-minded, unquestioning nature coupled with a crippling inability to make decisions makes me a shoe-in!

....But last night I watched a documentary that changed my mind about cult life forever:

Jarvis didn't dream small; he dared to DREAM BIG. I may not be freakishly lanky but I've got big hair and I can DREAM BIG too!

I'm not going to just join a cult; I'm gonna be a cult leader!

And my cult's gonna be the biggest, bestest cult ever! Know why? KNOW WHY? 'Cause I'm not gonna pretend like it's not a cult. Too many cults make the classic, "rookie cult" mistake of hastily rejecting the "cult label." This gives miserable outsiders the chance to cry outrage over "human rights" and less-dedicated members the chance to feel confused, betrayed or bankrupt. Here come the lawsuits! And there goes your undeserved millions. It's a cultleaders second-greatest fear.

At Do What Rachel Says Farm we won't sugar-coat things. There's a no bullshit policy*. And drugs, lots and lots of drugs.

Yes, the happiness we offer illusory. We're upfront about that. But you won't care unless you resist! And why resist, really. I mean seriously, why? To preserve your individuality? Well I hope you enjoy your doubt-filled autonomy with its scary choices and consequences. Meanwhile your Cultmates™ will spend bliss-filled days literally ecstatic to shell peas for the Righteous Cause.

And anyway, can you prove strenuous, unpaid labor isn't the surest way to achieving serenity? No, no you can't. I'm doing everyone a favor by making me rich! So that's my life plan for bettering the world. This week.

*Initially. Policy may change based on Cultmate™ ranking

Tulie: That's French for F@#King Anger Wafers

YOU want a blog update?

I wanted to impress someone and now my kitchen floor is covered in a thousand sugary shards of frustration and impotence. My fingers and palms are burnt and blistering. I'm dirty but also too tired to shower so it looks like I'm going to stay that way.

The worst part is that I've made tuiles many times with roaring success. Roaring! They were my sophisticated standby and now I have nothing. NOTHING! Not even an alcoholic flatmate to scream at.

Now I'm going to watch clips from Withnail and I (instead of going to bed) and panic about the direction my life is heading.

Making Mole Babies Out of Mountain Hills

When I gained control over the initial blind rage I felt at thought of having to share my Libbie Time™ I was able to see that us* having boyfriend might actually be good for Libbie’s emotional well-being. Not because she’d form a meaningful relationship with another, fully-realized human(Man!) but because she’d finally be allowed to have emotions. One of the demands I make of my friends is that they do not allow themselves to feel. This might seem selfish but it's actually for their own good. Managing the overwhelming enormity and intensity of my emotions requires the skill of at least one superhuman (Libbie) and one barely human (Me). It’s a two person task. If I allowed my friends to feel, even the tiniest bit, the immense weight of our collective feelings would create a black hole of womanly hysteria.

Unless...a man could save us! With a boyfriend, Libbie would have the support of a competent, capable chap she could burden with her lady troubles. Problem solved! EVERYONE GETS TO FEEL!

However, Libbie's last post reminded me that having a boyfriend doesn't necessarily make her life less confusing. So even if I’m not going to stop relying on Libbie to fix the daily chrysies I create for myself, I could at least be clear about when I’m having a meltdown. Here is a graph to clarify when I’m joking and when I NEDD YOOU WRFIGHT THE HELL NOW!!!!!!!!

Can You Explain Kate and Leopold without Using the Phrase “the Devil’s work!”?

I have a summer job! How deliciously plebeian.



I may be middle class enough to be aware of human suffering but I hope the children I buy with my eventual celebrity will never be.

I hope they go to rehab instead of summer camp.

I hope they go their whole lives without ever discovering the taste of tap water. Nothing that is a EXTENSION OF ME should be subjected to Tempe tap water. Actually, no person* should be subjected to Tempe tap water.

*Aw, c’mon guys! Meg Ryan’s not a person! She’s a hellbeast summoned by Satan to entrance movie-goers so they won’t leave in fits of outrage, demanding not only their money back but also a movie industry that doesn’t believe they’re boorish enough to actually enjoy Serious Moonlight.

Would I Tell Everybody If It WASN'T True?

To me, the perfect chocolate chip cookie has a crisp, sturdy exterior covered in wrinkles and crevices. But the inside should be gooey, a molten chocolate mess- almost liquid when hot. The cookie itself should have a taste, buttery and salty, and not be completely overshadowed by the chocolate. They shouldn't be flat but not at all cake-like either. And finally, they should STAY DELICIOUS the next day. Maybe tender instead of crisp but not stale and bland. Which is inevitably what happens to my chocolate chip cookies. Oh, the many times I thought I'd finally achieved perfection only to be betrayed the next day by a box of pretty, tasteless cookies.

And really, I don't think my requirements for The Perfect Chocolate Chip Cookie are unreasonable. They certainly certainly seem achievable, like something that really ought to exist in the real world. But like a cute, mustard yellow, adult-sized corduroy jumper, these cookies seemed to exist only in my mind. WELL NO LONGER! 'Cause I did it, I made perfect ones. True, they're probably unnecessarily fussy and complicated (just like me) but DAMMIT THEY'RE GOOD! They're a combination of my favorite chocolate chip cookies from my former life when I thought perfection was unachievable:
- Libbie's mom posted a wonderful chocolate chip cookie recipe with pulverized oats which taste and look lovely but didn't stay fresh. (For me, 'cause I'm not innately perfect like the Henries- I HAVE TO WORK AT IT!)
-And Jacques Torres's which is French and complicated and perfectly suited for Friday nights when all I want to do is make something that takes hours and listen to glam rock. Plus they're good.
I liked both but neither was absolutely perfect. So I combined them, making the ingredients list longer than the Seine. (Pow! Geography comedy, coming at you!) Honestly, I don't think adding the oats was as important as the size of the cookies. I've always fought my instincts to make recklessly huge cookies but I think the largeness is what allows them to be crispy and crackly on top while still gooey inside. So here it is:

Super Fussy Chocolate Chip Cookies:

• 1 pound unsalted butter
• 1 3/4 cups granulated sugar
• 2 1/4 cups packed light-brown sugar
• 4 large eggs
• 2 cups plus 2 tablespoons cake flour or 4 T cornstarch and 2 c. All purpose flour *
• 2 cups bread flour
• 1 cup pulverized oats
  
• 1 tablespoon salt
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 2 teaspoons baking soda
• 1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract
• about 18 oz. chocolate - the bigger the chunks the better**
  
• pinch of cinnamon (my preference)
  

* in lieu of pastry flour which is what Jacques's recipe calls for. To make cake flour replace 2 T of all purpose flour with cornstarch per cup of all purpose flour.
** I think I used a 12 oz. bag semisweet chocolate chunks and about half a 12 oz. bag of milk chocolate chips. This was my idea of a perfect ratio but I like my cookies chocolatey.

To make:
Cream butter, then sugars, and cinnamon if you're using it. Beat until light yellow and fluffy. Then add eggs one at a time and then vanilla extract (I like to use 1/2 almond extract too). Sift dry ingredients together in a separate bowl and mix on a low speed until just combined. Stir in chocolate. Then chill for as long as possible. I did an hour- you're supposed to wait 36. Then make obscenely huge cookies. Jacques says golf ball sized. Mine weren't quite that big but they still worked. Bake at 350 F for about 12-20 minutes (you'll need to watch them since the time depends on the size). Rejoice! For a long time 'cause this makes a crapload. Probably about 60 4-5 inch cookies. I would have halved it except my girlish brain didn't want to do the math.

Don't Let Reality Happen to YOU!

IT seems that every time I've finally decided to renounce my old ways and finally, finally start anew something miraculous (or close enough) occurs and I am more firmly dedicated to never changing.
I do occasionally wonder if my deification of celebrities is really as proactive/not detrimental to my emotional stability as I tell myself it is. Maybe now that I'm twenty and properly an adult* I ought to start living in the scary real world. A world where NBA stars don't leap out of bed in the morning, high-fiving a dozen orphans and performing a series of complicated aerobatics before gracefully landing on the ground. After all, I don't want to end up a mother-murdering psychopath because I can't remember if the actuality is the clay sculptures of celebrities I made myself or my human family.**
And sometimes I come to another scary conclusion: What if baking, the joy of my soul, my deepest passion, blah blah blah is merely a distraction from the Big Important Plan to do something Very Important and Incredible (and vague!) with my life. What if I never become a famous, famous chef and the billions of people on this planet will never get to know how perfect and amazing I am? What if my True Purpose doesn't even involve being filthy rich? What if it's dirty charity work? But then...something happens and I am reassured.
I might even post the recipe later!

* Kidding! Everyone knows adulthood is a myth!
**The last time I saw Heavenly Creatures the parallels between my life and theirs scared me enough to briefly consider taking down the post-it note halo and angel wings I stuck to my Steve Nash poster. God, I'm sorry Steve! I know You will forgive me, but I'm still sorry!