No.

So today, I said "no". It was just a few minutes ago, really. It feels weird, because it feels as if I am letting someone down or being too lazy to do something, but really, I think it is the only thing I can do.
What happened?
Well, as you may have noticed from the lack of blogposts, the last 1.5 weeks or so has been one of the busiest periods I've had in a long time. I'm studying, which should take 40 hours a week, but took a bit more in this case because I was preparing a discussion piece which I will present later today. On top of that, I worked for 20 hours on some publishing assignments. That makes around 60 hours. Added to which are various committees I'm on, birthdays, visits to parents, quiz nights, lunch/tea/coffee/dinner with friends, etc. So it was busy.
Now next week, I have a "reading week", which means that I don't have any scheduled classes but have to do exams or write essays. It just so happens that I won't be taking any of those, so I am basically free to do what I want. So I decided to do some work, and am going to do a big project for the aforementioned publishing company. This starts on Wednesday. So, they asked me whether I wanted to do some more assignments like the one I've been doing last week. And I said "no". I still have some stuff I need to do for classes, I need to figure out how the system for my next project works, and basically, I want to have some time off. I've been working close to 12 hours each day for the last week, and I feel like Bilbo said it; stretched thin, like butter scraped over too much bread.
But then immediately after I told them "sorry, I can't do it, I have other stuff to do", I felt guilty. Like I am letting them down (I am not, because I never said I would be available or do anything) or being a lazy git (don't think so, really, I've enough other stuff that needs to be done).
I mean, right, I want to have some time to do the things that I like to do, like blogging or painting or reading (seriously, I've been reading the same book for two weeks now, and it only has 180 pages!), or just doing nothing. Finish watching the first GoT season on DVD so I can dive into the second season when it arrives (we were going to watch one ep every night for 10 days so we would be ready on April 1st, we've watched 2 so far). I need, to put it in a vaguely disgusting "hip" term, some me-time.
And that's probably why I feel guilty, because I'm supposed to be this ambitious career girl, and I'm not supposed to need time to myself until I have achieved all I wanted to achieve, and then I'll definitely not have time for it anymore. This is not right, is it? I mean, I should be allowed to have a free weekend, not working until 10 in the evening on a Saturday night, and then finish the preparation for of my classes on Monday and Tuesday, and then dive into the next project on Wednesday. But as you can see, I feel the need to justify this, to myself, to my "employer" (I'm just doing projects for them, it's nothing "official" with a contract or anything), and to the world. Clearly, there must be a lot of pressure to perform, to spend all of your time in a "useful" way, to maximise your CV and experience, and be ready to devote your life to your ambitions. It's no wonder that 40% of all students (said an article in the uni newspaper) can't sleep, feel depressed, burned out, or way too stressed. There is too much pressure. And sadly, most of that pressure is probably coming from us, we're doing this to ourselves, because we think it's what others expect from us.
So today, I said "no". And now I'm stressed about that.

Cheesecake brownies

Last week I was in a restaurant and the waitress named the special dessert of the day; brownie cheesecake. Unfortunately, the main dish left me too full to sample some, but I was determined to find a recipe and make them myself. Now I searched for "brownie cheesecake", but most hits came up as "cheesecake brownies". Potehto, potahto, I thought, and I picked the recipe of which I could find the most ingredients (American recipes sometimes call for the most crazy things... canola oil, anyone?) and did not start with "Take a box of brownie mix. Follow the instructions on the package...". Yet again, I ended up at the BBC.

Marbling in the bowl.

Now this recipe calls for 100 ml of strong espresso, which I did not use (because 4 of the 5 people who would eat it don't like coffee), but I put in some water instead (I know, seems pointless, but I think it needed the moisture. I thought about adding chocolate milk, but it seemed a bit pointless if you've already used 225 g of chocolate). Also, they ask for "cream cheese", which is a problem, because in Dutch we have "roomkaas" and "kwark", which can both be translated as "cream cheese". In this case I opted for the "kwark", but I think either one will do the trick. Other than that, I just followed the recipe.
And I think it worked kinda well.

I have no patience to wait until it has cooled completely; this is what it looks like!

They tasted great. The cheesecake is moist and soft, while the brownies are chocolaty and melt in your moth. It doesn't really matter how well you mix the two, as you'll always end up with a mouth full of both, and it's the combination that really makes this work.

Several words of warning are in order for this one;
- As you have probably already seen, it will create a LOT of dishes. And I mean really a lot. And they're gonna be hard to clean, because the chocolate will have become solid again by the time you get to it, so yeah... This may be a good reason why you should use brownie mix straight from the package, it will give you one less bowl to wash, and the most annoying bowl at that.
- Also, this recipe includes pouring a hot liquid into an egg mixture. If you've never before realised why this is one of the scariest things a baker can do, be happy, and ignore the following lines. If you have realised this, you know what I'm talking about. The mixture shouldn't be too hot, or your eggs will immediately curdle or become an omelet, but it also shouldn't be to cold, or it won't combine properly. I erred on the side of caution on this one, so my brownie mixture turned out veeeery sticky and uncooperative. Which is usually good in brownies, because it means they will be chewy, but not in this case, as I couldn't create a proper marbling effect, because the brownie mixture was so heavy it wouldn't combine with the cream cheese mixture. Oh well...
- They say to use a 20x20 cm tin, I used a 25x25 cm tin, and still the mixture almost rose over the top in the oven. May be that I am just that awesome a whisker, but I don't think so.
- Finally, these things contain about 50.000 calories, so only make them if you have people coming over (3, in our case) who will quickly eat all of them and make sure you will not be the one stuffing them into your mouth at 10 in the morning!

Modernists

So this semester I'm taking a theatre course, because I don't know that much about theatre and wanted to learn more (in sharp contrast to several other students in the course, who already know everything about theatre, and are just there to get an easy grade). I really wanted to do the Shakespeare course, but because that alternates with the modern theatre course, I am doing the latter. Now I will say up front that I don't really like modern literature. I can't tell you exactly why I don't like it, but most things written from 1880 until around 1960 don't really grip me and entice me as texts from before or after that period do. There are always some exceptions of course, including Sherlock Holmes, the war-poets, and Tolkien, but generally speaking, it's true.
Now we've been reading some more "conventional" modernist plays for the last few weeks (which still caused huge riots when they were first produced, but are not something we would lift an eyebrow over), but now we've really gotten to the good modernist stuff. Jarry's Ubu the King, and Beckett's Waiting for Godot. And while I was reading the former, I suddenly realised why I don't like it. It is just too contrived. It's shocking just to be shocking. It's absurd just to be absurd. Just like Woolf or Joyce were writing in a new way, just to write in a new way, although for them of course there was a higher purpose. Here there isn't one. The point is that there is no point, which is all very existentialist, but it does not really get us anywhere (think about it, if we were all constantly thinking about the fact that there isn't really a point, nothing would ever happen again. Also, see Calvin & Hobbes and another one and another one). There is no message, no goal, except to say "hey, look at how absurd and weird and non-conventional I am! Look at how different I am! I bet you're jealous now, stuck in your conventional boring society/literature/art!" There is absolutely no reason for Jarry to put "shit" into his play about 100 times, he just does it to shock the audience (and it worked, I can tell you). Why would you do that? Why would you irritate people just for the sake of irritating them? There is so much beautiful art out there, there are so many beautiful plays, why not direct your energy towards something that people can enjoy and love, instead of something that will shock and anger them?
I can see how it works when you want to tell something about society, or about people. Sometimes you need to shock people before they can realise or see things that they are so used to that they won't see them any more. Comedians are good at this. But if you want to shock just to shock, then you're not creating art, in my opinion (remember: it's just my opinion. Although I do think most people agree that art should both entertain and educate). And we can see the end result of this process on tv every night, all those "Shock docs" and "The bride of 500 kg" and "Embarrassing Bodies" and whatnot programs.
So yes, modernists, especially modernist playwrights, do not appear to be my thing. Which does not mean I don't enjoy taking the course; I think it's fascinating to see what people though of as "disturbing" and "horrendous" just 100 years ago. And you can still study something even though you don't like it or agree with their point of view. Maybe that even makes it easier, because you're somewhat more distanced and can look at it more objectively. And who knows, maybe I'll come to like it in the end!

Painting with clingfilm

I've been doing some painting in the last week, and because I heard it was a good method to get some nice effects, I've tried painting with clingfilm. I tried to find a good tutorial online, but the online things I could find (apart from some very stoned YouTube clips) were discussion boards on what-to-do-with-small-children-websites, where mums say that it is an easy and mess-free way to paint. Well, I must be doing something wrong here, because it is definitely not mess-free.
Anyway, I've discovered that there are basically three ways of painting with clingfilm, which will give you three very different effects. Because there is so little to find on the subject online, I'll add these three methods below, so hopefully someone else can benefit too. I don't have any pictures or a finished painting yet, but I hope you can follow me through these descriptions.

1) Take a big piece of clingfilm, at least the size of your canvas. Squirt some paint onto your canvas (one colour or several), scrunch up your clingfilm to get some texture, unscrunch it, put it on top of the paint, and start moving the paint around. You can create nice texture effects, ripples, and let the colours run into each other. When you are done (you can sort of see the effect through the clingfilm) leave it to dry for a looooong time (a day at least, because the paint does not dry very quickly under the clingfilm) before pulling it off. You can pull it off earlier, but then you run the risk of ruining your effect because you pull up paint that isn't dry yet. This way, you can cover the whole of your canvas in colours and textures.

2) Secondly, take a smaller piece of clingfilm, about the size of the area you want covered. Again first scrunch and unscrunch your clingfilm, and then paint directly on it the rough shape of what you want to have (using just one colour or more). Remember that this will be the mirror-image of what ends up on your painting. Then press it onto your canvas, again creating some texture with the clingfilm. You have less control over what happens here, because the paint will either reach the canvas or not, and if you flatten out all the ripples then you might as well have just painted a uniform layer on top. So the end result will be more of a surprise. Leave it to dry for at least an hour, and then pull the clingfilm off (your hands will still be covered in paint after this). This way, you do not paint an entire layer, but you can add some smaller areas of paint. Because of the texture in the clingfilm, you do not get a uniform layer, but in some areas the background colour will come through.

3) Lastly, take a piece of clingfilm that is the size of the area you want covered, which can be your entire canvas. Paint whatever you want to do onto another surface (preferably non-stick), put the scrunched clingfilm on top, press down hard, take it off, flatten it out, and then press it down upon your canvas. You can see the effect here, because you can see which areas will have paint on them an which are just see-through. You can leave it to dry, but you can also take this off quite quickly, because all the paint that was on the clingfilm should be transferred to your canvas anyway (again, you'll get a lot of paint on your hands). This way, you will not see all the paint that was on the original picture, but some scattered elements.

I personally prefer the second method, because I do not have enough patience for the first and the third method uses up a lot of paint that does not end up on your canvas but gets thrown away with the surface it was originally painted on. But it all depends on the effect you're going for!

Hopefully, I'll soon have a painting to show you!

ETA: 21 June 2012: I have now added a fish painting that I made using the second technique.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Distanced

There is an interview in the paper today with Jonathan Safran Foer. The headline tells us that it is about the movie that was made based on his novel, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, but it is really about how people shouldn't attack books or authors because they have never hurt anybody, but that they should (verbally) attack politicians and terrorists instead. In between, Foer says that he watched the movie, that he liked it, but that he does understand why so many people hate it. He thinks it is because it is about 9/11, and people don't want to talk about that, or think about that, because it is too painful or because it will make them think about things that they just want to keep plain and simple.
Now I haven't actually seen the movie, but I've read enough about it to know what went wrong there. Any time Tom Hanks decides to quickly buy the film rights of a great novel, you should be very wary. He is not doing this because he loved the novel, or because he is afraid that somebody else will make a worse movie than he will, he is doing this because he knows it will make him a lot of money. And then he ensure that he himself will play the main character, which makes him even more money. Now in the novel, the story is divided in half between what the protagonist, Oskar Schell, tells us and letters that were written by his grandparents (to him or to his father). When I read that Tom Hanks was going to be in the movie, I imagined he would be playing the grandfather, which I thought was kinda neat, even though he was a little too young for that. Then I found out that they had actually scrapped the whole grandparents part of the story, just took them out, and somehow inserted Oskar's father back into the film, and that is who Hanks is playing. Now someone should really tell that guy that he is too old to play someone who is supposed to be in their early forties. But apart from that, his character is dead in the novel. That is the whole point of the novel. You can't go and put him back in, because everybody will know that the only reason you put him back in is because Tom Hanks is playing him. It is purely ego-tripping.
So Mr. Foer, I think most people are hating that movie not because of the subject matter, but because they ruined your book.
But I don't think that actually matters much to him. As he says in the interview, he knows why they changed things. They made a Hollywood blockbuster and those are supposed to appeal to a lot of people (which isn't really working out here, but okay). He would have made an arthouse movie, when given the chance. But he wasn't given the chance, and so he didn't participate in any way in the making of this film. He even says that when he watched in cinema, he cried at the end of the film, while he doesn't cry about his book (which I thought was magical, because I think few people can read that book and not cry). So really, he doesn't see it as his story anymore, it is just some Hollywood film about family and a search and memories and death and he was moved by that and it made him cry. End of story.
I think that is great. As a writer, you must be able to let go of your stories and have others tell them, perhaps in a slightly different way, because a story can never belong to you, it is just the way you told it that belongs to you, but all the rest of it is free to be told over and over again. Now the way Foer told the story, with his experimental use of photos and type and colour and letters and thoughts, is something that you can never put in a film, but also something that is uniquely him. So I think he is one of those few people who can rest assured that nobody is going to "steal" his story, because he is the only one who could have told it exactly that way. And he does rest assured. He clearly shows that this movie doesn't have that much to do with his novel, as far as he is concerned.
Maybe the rest of us should do the same, just don't think too much about how great and wonderful and innovative that novel is, but just go and watch the movie as if it is a fresh telling of a fresh story (I try to do this with most films that are made of novels, but sometimes you just can't help and go "Seriously? You didn't understand a thing about that novel! Whyyy did you spoil that for me??" But hey, that just shows how much you care, right?). My guess is that we will be happier all around.

Iced Lemon Curd Layer Cake

Today clearly was the first day of spring, and also the first day in a long time that didn't have to do anything for my studies (doesn't mean that I didn't do anything, it just means I didn't have to). So I decided to make a Lemon cake, and because I'd recently bought lemon curd, and because everybody loves icing, it had to be an Iced Lemon Curd Layer Cake. I stole the recipe from the BBC, and as I followed it exactly, I will not bother repeating it but just send you to look it up for your self. (You can of course make the lemon curd by hand, but if you've just bought a jar, that is kinda pointless, but feel free to try!)
So the top of my cake became a bit bubbly and wobbly, which leaves for some areas without icing, but you have to admit that it looks pretty good!

Jummy cake, jummy lemon curd, jummy icing!

 It tasted fresh and fruity and springy, which made it perfect for this wonderful bright, sunny day!

Diversity in writing

I have just finished By Nightfall by Michael Cunningham, who you all (I hope) know as the author of The Hours. Now The Hours is one of my favourite novels, so when I found out that there was a new novel by him, I had to read it (I have somehow missed Specimen Days being published, probably because I was studying biology and only had eyes for fantasy, like most eco-nerds). I was expecting something great and moving and romantic, or at the very least, something set in a historical period with a woman as the protagonist.
Instead, I got a novel about a man in his forties, living in New York, and going through a massive mid-life crisis. Granted, he is an art dealer, so there is something romantic-artistic about the novel, but other than that, the only connection to The Hours is that there is a gay person in it (I won't tell you who it is, because that would be spoilering. Also, I just found out that the author is gay himself, which may explain something).
Don't get me wrong, By Nightfall is brilliantly written and very gripping, and I think it is quite an accurate depiction of current-day New York/society (I've never been to New York, but I hope to be able to tell you in a couple of months). I loved reading it, I will probably read it again (also because it is small and light, but still takes you a couple of days to get through it, so an ideal travel book). But it was just so very different from what I was expecting. So very different from the novel that I know.
This is something that I am still genuinely awe-struck by; authors who can produce a new book about every 5 years, and have all those novels be about completely different things, different periods, different people, even in a different genre. Everything I have ever written has similarities on some basic level and no matter how hard I try, they always somehow creep in. I wish I were able to somehow step out of that "history of writing" and do something completely different, and every NaNoWriMo I try, but it has somehow never happened.
With Ian McEwan (I will always get back to him when given the chance), you can see he has many different subjects and periods and characters, but there is always that thing that connects his novels, his style of writing, the little details, the things that make you go "ah, typically McEwan!" (although Solar is perhaps the exception to that rule, now that I think about it...). That is what it must be like to be a great writer; to be able to deal with a diversity of subjects, but still have readers recognise your style (or "voice", although that sounds very artsy-partsy). I think Michael Cunningham hasn't fully done that, because I did not recognise the same voice that told the story in The Hours, but I do admire his ability to deal with stories that are so very different. Granted, there are some great writers who stick to one area or field or subject and write brilliant books too (Jane Austen? Neil Gaiman?), but I have to admit I do prefer the first kind of author. Because with them, there are always new worlds, new societies, new ideas, new people to discover. So I can't wait for Michael Cunningham's next novel, although I am afraid I will have to wait for a couple more years!

Mine mine mine!

So as you (should) know by now, I am a big fan of Ryan Gosling (we watched The Ides of March yesterday, because if there ever is a good day to watch that film, it is Super Tuesday, and it was brilliant!). So I was really happy when a few days ago, the movie reviewer in my newspaper said that "looking back on this period, we will see in a few years that this were the hey-days of Ryan Gosling - he has made 5 films in 2 years, and holds his own against great actors such as Anthony Hopkins, George Clooney, and Philip Seymour Hoffman". I was happy, because someone else is also recognising his talent and being a fan of him. And then I felt somewhat annoyed, because he is my discovery, and now the newspaper man was acting as if he was the first to notice him. And then I was sad, because now everybody is going to be talking about him, but I was there first!
In short, I went a bit Gollummy ("My oowwwwnnnn... My preciousssssss!").
A similar thing happened when Game of Thrones was first announced (I still want to stab the person that decided it was going to be Game of Thrones and not A Game of Thrones! Seriously, some titles just need an article!). I have been reading and loving those books for about 6 years now, and I have told everybody who wanted to listen that they were great and brilliant and should be read, and I loved the series. But then it became popular, and everybody started watching and loving the series, and random people who have never even opened a fantasy novel in their life were talking about Tyrion and Arya and Jon (and making the most stupid comments ever, that Daenerys would be Jon's mother, or some craziness, she is younger than him, for crying out loud!) and I felt sad and robbed and annoyed because I am a true fan who has been there from the start and they are all fakers lifting on some HBO-induced wave of popularity.
Right-o.
Safe to say that I do not express most of these feelings, because then I would have been locked up in the Asylum of Sad and Jealous People a long time ago, and I may have exaggerated somewhat about my feelings, but still, it is weird when you think about it. If you have something you love, something smallish and unknownish and up-and-comingish, you want to share your love and appreciation with everybody, but when that thing then becomes big and popular (and mainstream), you get all angry and annoyed and want the others to go away because it is yours. (Or you start hating the thing that you used to love, which is the approach most Pink Floyd fans took, but that's really not an option for me.) Why do I (we? Am I the only one who has this? I can hardly believe it) get this way? Is the thing you like less likeable when others like it too? Or is it the feeling of "I know something you don't know" that makes me (us?) feel so happy and special? Is it really about the thing itself, or is it about the way that thing reflects on us, makes us feel intelligent or edgy or "alternative", and how that effect goes away when too many people like it?
I'm not sure. I do know that it is really annoying, and not something I like about myself, and something I try to keep to myself, but still something that is there. But nevertheless, I do hope that you all go forth and watch Ryan Gosling movies, because he really is great (seriously, he is named after a little goose, how much better can you get?), and that you all read A Game of Thrones (A! A Game!) and all the other novels of the A Song of Ice and Fire series, and when you have done that, you can watch the series and make intelligent comments. Or just watch the series, because it is brilliant. You will enjoy and love it. And I will try not to resent you for it.

Double Dutch

(See how if my workload goes up, my post load goes down? Now that I finally have some "real work" again, it's going to be even worse, I'm afraid...)

So on Postcrossing, you can turn on or off whether you want to send and receive from your own country. I am very glad for this option, because it means I can turn the Netherlands off. Why, you say? I have my reasons...
Firstly, Dutchies are cheap. I know it is a stereotype, I know "going Dutch" is supposed to be funny, but it's really true. Apart from some sad pieces of paper, the cheapest cards I've received were all from Dutchies, who then wrote blatantly happy messages about their dogs and the weather, obviously avoiding the whole "I hope you like this card!" issue.
Secondly, in Dutch, the word "card" (kaartje) means both a postcard and a greeting card. So about half of the cards you get from the Netherlands are folded greeting cards. In some cases I understand this, I've received some from other countries as well where the sender just had a lot to say, and needed the space. But most Dutchies just write "Happy Postcrossing!" and nothing else. It's these cards I most frequently throw out.
Thirdly, and most importantly, Dutchies are hypocrites. Most of the Dutch part of the forum is dedicated to complaining about your life/work/neighbours or about cards you've received, people that make stupid or unrealistic requests, or people that aren't participating in tags or round robins properly. The whole atmosphere is that of a collective "look me, I'm perfect and great and spending loads of money, and look at all those other people, cheating and trying to get away cheaply" whine. Followed by a topic on where to get free cards. I've tried to be realistic in some of these topics, but then people say "hey, I'm putting in the time and effort and money, why shouldn't they?". Really, it's just a hobby, although I think for many of the complainers, it is more of a day job. So people keep saying that countries like Belarus and Russia and the Ukraine send such horrible cards, but frankly, the worst I've received were all from Dutch people.

This is not to say that all Dutch Postcrossers are horrible, of course. I think most people just send a lot of cheap cards to fellow-Dutchmen so their sent-amount goes up and they are able to send out more cards to different countries. Which is fine. But it also means I don't want to receive cards from the Netherlands anymore. I'd rather wait a bit longer for a special, albeit cheaply printed, card from Belarus than find 3 cheap Boomerang cards in my mail box. It will make me happier, it will make the senders happier, and it will teach me some patience!