Mmmm, Cake.

Tonight, I continued on my author stalker journey. I attended The Women's Connection International Authors night, and the author scheduled was a lovely woman named Bharati Muhkarjee. I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to Ms. Muhkarjee. She was interesting and funny and intelligent, but unfortunately, there was chocolate cake, and when I saw that cake I sort of blacked out.

My crazy friend JM organized the night with my book club.  We attended last year, when the speaker was Alexandra Fuller, also lovely and amazing.  I'm not sure if there was cake last year, but apparently I wasn't going through some sort of crack-addict-like phase with chocolate, so I was mentally present at that event.  I blame Halloween and all of those Reese's Peanut Butter Cups that got me on the sugar binge.  Let me break it down my thought process tonight for you:

We arrive at the event.  Upon checking in, JM and I immediately search out the bar and get ourselves a $5 dixie cup of bad house white wine.  We find our table, "The Hot Chicks Book Club", but honestly none of us is especially comfortable with that name.  We decide we need a new name.  My vote is for "Cheap and Easy Book Club" or "Braless Brainiacs" or "Slap My Bestseller and Call Me Oprah Book Club".  Maybe "Is That Twilight In Your Pocket or Are You Happy To See Me  Book Club".  We'll work on it.  The voices dwindle away, because I see this:

Sweet Jesus, is that double fudge?

I found myself saying aloud, "Does anyone else want to start dinner with this cake?" and a few people chuckled and I was all, "No, I'm serious, who is starting with this cake?"  But no one took a bite and the salads came out, so I dutifully ate my salad like a good girl, thinking "how much spinach can I eat before I don't want that cake?"

The wait staff is taking away everyone else's plates with a polite amount of salad left on it, but I'm scooping up every last shred because HELLO! It's strawberry vinagrette dressing!  Then they put a plate of beans and chicken in front of me, which is fine, but I'm staring at that cake.  Is it dense?  Is it moist?  Will it be fluffy?  Is that frosting cream cheese?  Why didn't they put raspberries on it?  I bet raspberries would be good.

I shove aside my half eaten chicken, and get a good hot cup of coffee with cream prepared.  The coffee is the cake foreplay.  Other people start taking bites, and the speakers have begun.  The attention is turned away from the table and no one can see me savoring this delicious cake.  It is quite fudgy and dense, and goes perfectly with my coffee and that little dab of whipped cream next to it.  I see the Virgin Mary in my cake.  I cry a little.

Once my cake is gone and I have licked my fork and then the plate, I try to focus on the speaker.  She grew up in India in a wealthy family with servants, and her father was to pick a bridegroom for her and...WHA???  Look how many people at my table did not finish their cake!  Why?  Why would they deny themselves the sheer pleasure that is cake?  It is here, already baked and frosted and cut by someone else, and then arranged so nicely on this plate with the fudge drizzles and the dab of whipped cream!  Someone took the time to make this nice for you!  It's almost insulting not to eat it.  And it would make me feel better about myself if you did eat it.

The author attended the Iowa Writer's Workshop in Iowa City.  I wonder if she ate her cake?  If she saw half-eaten pieces of cake laying around her table, would she be tempted to ask her tablemates if she could just take one tiny bite of that delicious cake?  It shouldn't be wasted.  Maya Angelou loved a section of Ms. Muhkarjee's book "Jasmine", and I'm thinking Maya Angelou supports cake.  She seems like such a deeply happy and satisfied person, which only people who really appreciate and support the eating of cake can achieve.

The author finished.  She was good, I know she was, but Damn, so was that frigging cake!  I took JM home, got home myself, and told Current Husband about the cake.  He wondered why I didn't smuggle any home for him, and I thought, "This is it.  This is why I love CH.  He appreciates a good cake."  We are like Avatar, but instead of saying 'I See You', we say 'Let's Have Dessert'.

I will tell you that as I am typing this, George the Superpet is sleeping on his chair behind me, and he is farting up a storm, which is sort of killing my cake memories.  I should take a vial of liquid Purina Dog Chow with me at all times so I can make an emergency intervention in case there is ever a cake this distracting at an event where I need to pay attention. 

My next author stalker night definitely needs to involve The Barefoot Contessa and a latte.  I going to bed now to dream about cake.  But first, I will take a Prilosec, because you can't do the crime if you can't do the time.  Sweet dreams, cupcakes.

I am Julie, Author Stalker

We interrupt Laura Ingalls Wilder month for a new random posting series:

Julie, Author Stalker

It is much like Walker, Texas Ranger, in that Walker, Texas Ranger is an American television police drama/action show known for its moral values and use of martial arts. Julie, Author Stalker, is an American wife drama/action sideshow known for her depravity and use of domestic arts. And she frightens authors at book signings.

Chuck Norris Facts:
*The chief export of Chuck Norris is pain.
*Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.
*In conversation, Chuck Norris often quotes himself, and then laughs about it.

Julie, Author Stalker Facts:
* The chief export of the Author Stalker is awkwardness and fear.
* Author Stalker not only finds authors, she stares them down until she gets the information she wants.
* In conversation, Author Stalker often quotes herself, and then laughs about it.

The big difference? Chuck Norris IS security, while Author Stalker is usually led out by security.

TODAY'S STALKED AUTHOR: Marilynne Robinson

The following information was shamelessly lifted from Wikipedia:
Marilynne Robinson (born November 26, 1943) is an American author. Her 1980 novel Housekeeping (see 1980 in literature) won a Hemingway Foundation/PEN Award for best first novel and was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. Her second novel, Gilead (see 2004 in literature), was acclaimed by critics and received the 2005 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, the 2004 National Book Critics Circle Award for Fiction, and the 2005 Ambassador Book Award. Her third novel, Home, published in 2008, was a finalist for the 2008 National Book Award, and won the 2009 Orange Prize for Fiction. Also in 2009, she held a Dwight H. Terry Lectureship at Yale University, giving a series of talks entitled Absence of Mind: The Dispelling of Inwardness from the Modern Myth of the Self.

Tonight I attended a reading by Marilynne Robinson. She was lovely, as was the book "Gilead", which I read and had her sign. She is an instructor at the University of Iowa Writer's Workshop and well respected in her field. During the Q&A segment of her reading, I asked her about her process in writing, and if winning a Pulitzer put any undue pressure on her. I sounded sane. She seemed okay with me, until I got in front of her.

Again, when I have too much time in line, I start thinking of weird things to say to people. Anyone who has lived with me for any length of time, which at this point would include my family of origin, my Chi Omega sorority sisters, and Current Husband and children, know that if I have too much time on my hands and am in the right mood, people could end up wrapped like a mummy in toilet paper (sorry Jen), or written on (sorry, CH), outlined like a dead body (sorry Tina), or covered in maxi pads (that was actually Barb, but I helped). Because I am THAT mature.

MR: "Hello."
ME: "Hi. I sure wish I could secret you away from here for 30 minutes and pick your brain."
MR: (Looks up, a little alarmed.)
ME: (Nervous laughter, like 'did I just say that out loud?') "But I'm sure Borders wouldn't let me take you away unwillingly, huh?"
MR: (Making mental note to have Borders employee walk her to car) "Make this out to Julie?"
ME: "SO, I thought about applying at the Iowa Writer's Workshop, but my work is more Erma Bombeck and David Sedaris's love child, if she weren't dead and he weren't gay. But I'm thinking the workshop is more literary...."
MR: "Yes. Yes, the workshop does tend to be more literary."
(Awkward silence. Fifty people in line behind me collectively grumble and sigh.)
ME: "Well, thanks! I really enjoy your books!"
MR: "Thank you." (Smiles relieved smile and turns to next person.)

Authors with restraining orders against Julie, Author Stalker in October: THREE!

1) Jen Lancaster, whom I e-mailed about missing her book signing because of David Sedaris, and actually asked her if she ever let complete strangers take her out for drinks. She sent a lovely reply saying, "Um, thanks for being a fan, but back the f**k off." Well, not exactly like that, but I have printed it, enlarged it, and put it in the Jen Lancaster shrine in my basement.

2) David Sedaris, whom my friend Judy and I insulted and then tried to make him read my blog with the eventual goal of him "discovering" me. I lost my favorite Jesus oilcloth coin purse over that. Why must I be so impulsive? After drinking just a little, tiny bit? I am enlarging his signature page, which read, "Julie, I look forward to reading your book" and putting it in the David Sedaris shrine in my basement.

3) Marilynne Robinson, who is a totally dignified Pulitzer Prize winning novelist, and is walking with a can of Mace to her car right about now. But I won't enlarge anything of hers, because I'm feeling a little guilty about threatening to kidnap her.

Stay tuned! My next scheduled author stalking is Nov. 4, when I meet Alexandra Fuller, author of "Don't Let's Go To The Dogs Tonight". I'm going with my book club, and drinks will be served.